


Two Bastards and An Heir

by NamesNamesandMoreNames



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Incest, Cersei is Gendry’s Mother, Character Death, F/M, Gendry is a Baratheon, Jon Snow is a Bastard, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Postpartum Depression, Robb is Brandon Stark’s Son
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 16:47:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamesNamesandMoreNames/pseuds/NamesNamesandMoreNames
Summary: It seem that secrets rarely stay buried in Westeros, especially as wars tears throughout the continent. It seems that the ones hurt most by these secrets aren’t keeping them.How will Gendry, Jon and Robb deal with the lies they’re parents left them with?





	1. Bastards and Heirs

SNOW

_ 283 A.C. _

"I missed you, big brother," Lyanna whispered to him. "I- I am so sorry. He- I left-"

Ned's hands felt sticky with blood, his face covered with sand and tears. He wondered if the blood was his sister's or Arthur Dayne's. He hoped it was his, he'd have the man's blood staining his soul for the rest of his life after all. But he couldn't live with Lyanna's blood on his hands, let alone his soul. Ned just wanted to hold his little sister. "It's forgiven. All of it. We'll go back home it'll-- you'll be fine."

"He didn't tell me about Father or Brandon, not until it was too late," She whispered to him grabbing onto his hands now.

"It's okay. It's-"

She interrupted him though. "It's not. You're not listening. I left but I didn't stay willingly. I was pregnant," He fell to his knees in surprise. "I was foolish and he was handsome and I thought he loved me. I was so foolish. I should have listened to father, to you, but I didn't want to marry Robert. And I thought Rhaegar could see me." The iron underneath, he had told her that Robert didn't see her. This was his fault.

"Still, as I've said, everything is forgiven." That's when the wet nurse brought her baby boy into the room, he heard Lyanna let out a sob and she let go of him to reach for her son. He could see how the movement pained her. "Where's the Maester?"

It was the wet nurse that answered, Lyanna crying with her son now. "The Prince never called for one, milord."

"But-"

"Ned," he could see her arms were getting weaker, she was failing to support the boy's neck. Ned helped her, picking his nephew up from her arms and still holding him close to her. "Promise me. Robert will kill him. I think I'm-- Ned, I'm dying. I need you to protect him because I don't think I can."

"You will-"

She interrupted him again. "His name- Rhaegar wanted a girl, he wanted a Visenya. I- Ned, I don't k- he is mine, not his. I want you to name him. He is a Stark, not a Targaryen. I- Promise me, Ned. Ned, promise me."

"I- You're going to live. But I promise."

"His name, I- just don't name him Robert. Give him a good name. I- he's a bastard, he needs a good name."

He should name him Brandon or Rickard. But no, naming him after a Stark would bring shame to Catelyn. All of this would shame her, but he will not make this worse. He could name him Robert, despite his sister's wishes. It would keep the boy safe, Robert couldn’t kill a child named in his honor. Once he hadn't thought Robert could kill a child at all. But now he has seen him step over Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen's corpses and claim it fair for the crimes their father committed on to him. Now, he has heard his old friend swear death upon any Targaryen he could find, even Rhaella's child still in the womb. No, he would not spare this boy for anything, not if he knew he was related to Rhaegar in the slightest.

"Jon," he said the name without thinking but it was perfect nonetheless, named for Jon Arryn he would bring no shame to his new wife or honor to his fallen friend. Jon Sand-- No, Jon Snow, he was Lyanna's son, the boy was of the North.

"A good name," she smiled down at the boy and he could see she was dying by the pallor of her face.

Ned let out a sob. "A good name."

"I'm so sorry. I am so sorry, Ned." Her head fell back onto her pillow. "Promise me he'll be okay. I- Promise me, Ned. Promise me."

He could see her eyes going glassy with her tears, "I promise, I-" her breath hitched for a second, her eyes blank but still full of tears, she didn't start breathing again. "I love you, little sister. I'll protect him with my life. I- Lyanna please don't-"

"Milord," the wet nurse said calmly. "The babe needs to be fed. And washed again," He looks down at him, his face was streaked in blood from Lyanna's hands.

He wanted to be angry at this woman for standing there as his sister bled to death. But he could not find any fury in his heart. "Yes, of course," he said carefully as he moved Jon to her arms.

"And milord?" He turned to her. "I'm very sorry for your lost. Lya was - Lady Lyanna was always kind to me, it is a tragedy to see her gone."

He felt himself crying still, "Yes, it is."

"I would be honored to continue on as the boy's wetnurse." He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "Thank you, milord." With that, she left him with his sister's body and his guilt and promises.

Ned would send her and the child ahead to Winterfell, while he went to Robert's Coronation. He didn't want to risk taking the child anywhere near his friend and King. He was loyal no doubt, but he didn't see any choice in this.

He loved Robert, he had grown up with him and been proud to call him his brother. But they were never brothers. Lyanna was his blood, his little sister and he had always known he would protect her with his life, just as he knew he'd protect Jon, even if it meant betraying Robert.

He would protect Lyanna's son if it meant sacrificing his life, honor, and peace of mind for years to come. He would choose Lyanna over Robert now and every day after. Even if he would never understand what happened between her and Rhaegar, he would protect their son. His son. Yes, his son. Jon would be his son until the day both of them were cold in the ground.

* * *

 

RIVERS

_ 283 A.C. _

Catelyn looked down at her son,  _ two moons early  _ and still the right weight for a newborn. And she loved him. As she had loved Brandon. God, did she prayed no one ever questioned this, she couldn't bear the thought of her babe growing up a bastard. No, he was a Stark. Brandon's or Eddard's shouldn't matter.

She hadn't let her septa look for wet nurses. She hadn't let anyone come to see them aside from the septa and Maester Luwin. Not even Lysa. Especially not Lysa, who had lost her own babe in the womb only a moon's turn before Robb was born. Catelyn loved her sister she did, but she would love this chance to shame her. But Robb would never be a shame to anyone, least of all her.

She picked him up carefully supporting his neck. She had considered naming him Brandon but thought better of it. It would shame Eddard, even if he never knew the truth. There would be more children, she hoped to name one them Brandon. But no, it was right to name her son after their new King, honorable. From what she knew of him, Eddard would approve.

Sitting at the window with her son at her breast, Catelyn sent a prayer to the Mother that she would be forgiven for her dishonesty, for everything Catelyn did now would be in the name of the Mother. Everything she did would be to protect her children. To protect Robb.

That’s when the convoy arrived with Stark banners flying high. Her husband had returned and though she didn’t know him she felt utterly relieved. Eddard would take them to Winterfell and she would not have to worry about her sister’s torment or her father slowly growing ill. She wouldn’t have to see the place she had laid with Brandon.

She waited for Robb to finish drinking as she watched their horses trot across the lowered bridge. She could see him now. Eddard was quite handsome, though he also seemed sullen. She hoped he was as kind and gentle as he had been on their wedding night. She hoped they could be happy together.

Catelyn wondered if she would ever tell him the truth of Robb’s birth. Mayhaps after another son was born. Mayhaps not at all.  _ It didn’t matter, after all, _ she thought.  _ He would always be a Stark. _

 

* * *

 

WATERS

_ 284 A.C. _

_ Lyanna,  _ the name seemed to burn in Cersei's ears as she looked at the small babes before her, Steffon and Durran. Twins like her and Jamie, and yet that seemed to be the only thing she had in common with either of them. She sat quietly between their cribs trying to find her love for them. But there it was again  _ Lyanna.  _ Robert had hoped one of them would be a girl. He wanted one of them to have  _ her  _ name. She could not find it in her to love them. She didn't want to see  _ those _ eyes follow her around the room as they did now. Robert's eyes. Two sets that perfectly matched the man who would never love her.

Cersei looked over at a pillow across the room, it would be so easy, Robert was still on his hunting trip, they were both so small and weak and then she would never have to see them again. Never have to think about them again. She shook her head  _ no _ these were her children. She couldn't kill them. She called for a wet nurse and started walking up to her quarters. Perhaps she could convince Robert to foster them. But no, they were princes. They would never leave the Red Keep for long. Their eyes would never leave her.

She passed Jamie on the way, pulling him along with her away from Barristan and the new member of the Kingsguard. “They’re… I don’t want them.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“They’re not mine. They’re his, I… I want them gone. They’re  _ hers _ .”

“Cersei, they are yours, I was with you when you brought them into thi—”

She stopped turning to him quickly, tightening her grip on his hand. “I want them  _ gone _ .”

“You shouldn’t say that. You should sleep. Let’s go to sleep okay? You’ll feel better come morning.” He brought his free hand up to cup her cheek.

Cersei kissed him then for lying to her, for loving her. His children would look just like her, they would all have eyes that loved her.

She saw the shadow moving along the wall across from them, a ghost mayhaps.  _ Lyanna’s _ ghost coming to laugh at her delusions. Or the witch from the bog coming to whisper her prophecies once again _.  _ Three children for her and yet these two would never love her. And even still she thought of her last lines—  _ Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds _ . She would see them dead whether they loved her or not, whether she loved them or not. Mayhaps it was for the best that she did not.

Jamie led her carefully to her bed now and she pulled him still until he was on top of her. Her last child would look like her, her last child would love her.

* * *

Ell walked home from the tavern, the ground was covered in puddles and her shoes had long since soaked through. She had stayed past her shift to avoid the rain. She rounded the corner to the inn she roomed at bumping into a man with a beard that smells vaguely of perfume with a quiet babe tucked in his arms. “My apologies. 

He said nothing in return, so she moved on. She made her way up to her room opening the door to find Megra with little Gendry. “Thank you for watching him,” Ell smiled picking her son out from her friend's hands. He was growing so quickly. He had already been large for a newborn, a true Baratheon in that way, but it seemed he was even heavier now. Mayhaps he had simply eaten well tonight. “Did he give you any trouble?”

As she looked up at her friend she saw an almost mournful expression but only for a second. “He was wonderful, as always.”

Ell smiled down at him. “I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

“I- you don’t have to.”

“But I should really,” Gendry shifted in her arms, yawning and reaching up to pull at her blonde hair. “You’ve been wonderful to him.”

“I can’t look after him again, Ell,” Megra whispered, she looked down at her feet. “I’ve found a job in the Reach and- I am truly so sorry.”

Ell carefully laid Gendry on their bed and went to hug her friend as tears fell from both their eyes. “You need not be sorry, you’ve been wonderful, and you deserve this job. I only wish I could pay you back for everything you’ve done for Gendry and me.”

“I could never take your money,” Megra said quickly. Ell couldn’t help but smile, she had certainly thought differently before she got her new job. “I am so sorry.”

“None of that. I wish you luck and fortune for the future.”

“And I to you.”

* * *

 

When she woke the next morning, she was alone. Though there was knocking at the door. She quickly dressed and prepared to leave. She should take whatever meeting waited for her to the gardens for tea. Cersei didn’t for a second think of who would be at the door, but she certainly wouldn’t have guessed that the spider and the three Kingsguard that remained at the palace would greet her.

The men stood solemnly, heads bowed in mourning. Mayhaps Robert had been killed on his hunt. “Your Grace, the princes have become ill. 

The surprise that shown on her face was genuine. Her eyes met Jamie’s, had he done what she could not? No, his grief was real. She schooled her face. “Are they- will they be okay?”

The new Kingsguard, the one who remained nameless to her, spoke next. “Durran died in the night, but Steffon lives. There is a chance-”

A sob falls in the air, it takes her a moment to realize it’s hers. She reaches up to touch her face finding tears. This was what Cersei wanted, why was she crying? She didn’t even love them. They weren’t truly hers. Why should she mourn them? And yet her tears continued.

“-he could survive, your Grace.”

“He won’t.” She knew it was the truth as she said it. She fell to her knees wiping away her tears, why was she crying. The witch had been right all along, she was cursed to see her children shroud in gold on their deathbeds. “Where- Where is Durran?”

Varys looked almost surprised at her question. “We removed him from the nursery before we realized Steffon was feverish. To prevent-”

“Where is he?” She yelled looking up at the men before her. Jamie kneeled in front of her pulling her into his chest.

“He’s with the Mother now. He’s with our mother.”

“But I need to see him. I- I wan-"

“It’ll all be okay. It’ll be okay.”

She pushed at Jamie’s chest until she could see his face. She hated him for lying to her, for loving her. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” She shouted shuffling back into her room.

“I— I want to see my son. Bring me Steffon.” She wondered if that was the first time she thought of them as hers. Cersei was whispering now, over and over again, “bring him to me, bring him to me,” But she couldn’t hear her own voice over the witch’s cackling laughter  _ gold they will be, gold they will be, gold they will be. _

She never thought of Durran again but she would think of Steffon often. Steffon died in her arms and Cersei made sure his shroud was red, not gold. He had died her son.


	2. Mothers and Fathers

SNOW

_ 285 A.C. _

Catelyn was having a hard time remembering why she wanted this when she was looking down at this babe, not even a year old, riddled with spots and crying with fever. She looks up at Luwin. "Is there nothing we can do for him?"

"It will be a long night. But if he lives through tonight, he has good odds."

She nodded, her brows knitting together and for the first time Catelyn leaned down to pick up Jon Snow. Holding him felt no different than holding her own son. "We should move Robb; have someone bring him to Ned’s solar."

"Of course, my lady," he said calmly. Catelyn had known him all her life, even bringing him with her when she left Riverrun, and he did not sound hopeful and looked far too worried to calm her guilt. Why had she wanted this? "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Send the septa with the materials for a prayer wheel if you will?" She moved over to the chair she usually sits at with Robb and sat Jon in her arms. Luwin left with a small nod and a pitying look.

Catelyn leaned as far back as the chair would allow her and closed her eyes. She feels a little hand hit her arm and Jon's cries grew louder. She opened her eyes wiping the sweat off his brow. "I know, I know, you're hurting. I'm so sorry," bouncing her knee up and down she reaches over to grab the cloth from the ice water tub beside her gently dabbing it along his forehead until his tears had somewhat slowed. "I'm afraid this is all my fault really."

A knock came to the door and the septa stepped in. "Sorry for the disturbance, my lady, I have the twigs and twine you asked for?" Catelyn laid Jon down in the cradle beside her and took the materials from her. "I'm also supposed to bring the boy to his father?"

"Yes, thank you," Cat said barely managing a smile. The septa went to pick up Jon, but Catelyn stands to put a hand on the woman arm. "Oh no, take Robb to Ned."

Surprise crosses the septa's face for a second. "Of course, my lady, I hadn't realized,” she says quickly now rushing across the nursery to pick up Robb.

Her son already has a head of thick dark red hair and a smile that reminds her of Brandon. Jon's hair is dark brown like Ned's but it's silky and curled in a way he must get from his mother, Catelyn lets out a short sigh. "I understand, Mordane, thank you."

"Have a good night, my lady," the woman made her way to the door Robb cradled in her arms, but she turned back before leaving. "Shall I put him in my prayers?"

"Please do," Cat feels a stab of guilt as she sits back in her chair. The septa nodded closing the heavy door behind her. Had she truly treated this boy so poorly the septa wanted permission to pray for him?

Catelyn shook her head firmly placing everything in her lap before turning to the twigs. Jon was quiet now. She wondered if today was the first time she ever heard him cry in fact, he was always quiet. "I've never made one of these you know?" she told the babe as she picked up the longest twig. It felt brittle in her hand, but she supposed that was the point; you have to be careful with your prayers.

She felt silly talking to him but found she hated the silence. "I am not your mother, Jon. But I should be. I never-- I wish things could be different," she began to wrap the twine to keep the twig in its circular shape. "You see. When I look at you I- I shouldn't but I see that you could be very dangerous company for my son."

Catelyn shook her head again. "But I suppose that shouldn't matter-- I wish it didn't." He really was so quiet, she looked over at the small cradle next to her, he was staring. "I'm sorry." He blinked.

"Okay, fine, it doesn't matter. But still, I'm not your mother. Your mother…" Cat should stop talking. Ned doesn't want anyone to say anything about Ashara Dayne. But surely, he'll tell the boy about her at some point. "Your mother was beautiful in the stories, long black hair and dark violet eyes. I'm afraid I never met her. The closest I came was the Tourney at Harrenhal but my mother had just died and my sister… was sick."

"I need you to live- want you to live even, " Catelyn started lacing the twine around to make a seven-point star. Jon gurgled from his crib a confused look on his face. She almost had to laugh, how could this child look so serious? "I-- I was sixteen when my mother died. Every night, no matter how busy she was running the house, she'd come up to my room and braid my hair and we'd talk about nothing." She had messed up, the star only had six points, Cat let out a deep sigh and began to unravel it. "We'd talk about my schooling or about dresses or her work or sometimes Lysa or Edmure-- my siblings. And then one day when I was twelve she came to tell me about a boy. No, not a boy, a betrothal. To Brandon Stark, heir to Winterfell."

Jon made a small coughing noise so Catelyn put the wheel down. "I'm not going to lie," she said, picking him up carefully. "I had very mixed feelings on Brandon at first. I was a romantic, but I always understood the politics my father loved so I figured the best I could hope for was the firstborn son from one of the great houses," She started pacing around the room pressing the cooled cloth to Jon's fevered brow. "And Brandon was all of those things. Young and handsome, too. But the North,” she shook her head causing some of her hair to fall out of its braid. If it were Robb she was holding he'd already be pulling at it, Jon only seemed inconvenienced by it. She brushed it over her shoulder and went back to her pacing. "The North and the old ways were quite daunting to me. Are quite daunting if I'm being honest."

She let out another sigh and returned Jon to his cradle pushing it softly, so he could still feel the movement. She wondered if he liked the rocking, Robb did. She picked up the wheel and continued her work. "I've always practiced the Faith of the Seven. I always will but… I'm afraid that my faith has taken me down some dark alleys recently. I'm afraid my prayers are what did this to you." Catelyn pulled the twine into a knot on the seventh point of the star and put the wheel down again. Now she had to make the seven figures.

"I didn't know Ashara Dayne, but I know that you deserve a better mother than me." She wraps the twine around her hand seven times and then brings the small envelope knife up to break the ends. Catelyn ties an extra piece around the ropes making the Fathers head, it was poorly done but she had seen worse. She set him off on top of her wheel and started making the Mother. "But I will be your mother. If you live. If you want me. If you live I will go right to your father and tell him to make you a Stark. Make you my son, too," Catelyn could feel the words in her mouth. She wasn’t lying, she couldn't really lie while making a prayer to the gods, but there was something else.  _ I would tell him,  _ she thought.  _ if I knew you were younger than Robb. If you didn't look  _ so  _ much like a Stark. If I thought your mother might be lowborn. If. If .If. _

She knew that if she was a  _ good _ mother she would ask Ned in the morning. "Okay, Jon, I promise," With that, she tied the head of the Mother, which looked utterly terrible, and set it down. When she looked up the babe was sleeping soundly.

Catelyn moved on to make the Warrior, guilt heavy on her heart.

* * *

 

WATERS

_ 287 AC _

Cersei bit her lip and placed a hand over her belly. "Are you certain?" she asked.

"Indeed, your grace," Pycelle informed her, heavily sitting down at his desk, his chains thudding against the wood. She could feel the man's eyes leering at her as he told her, "In fact, it seems you're quite far along. I'm surprised no one else has noticed."

She scoffed at his statement before turning quickly on her heel. This wasn't supposed to be possible. The bog witch said she would only have three children and she had, Steffon, Durran, and her perfect Joff. But if she was pregnant that could mean all of her prophecies were wrong! Cersei couldn't help the smile that came to her face as she started toward the nursery.

_ But…  _ just because she was pregnant didn't mean she'd have another child. She could miscarry or die in childbirth like her mother. She felt something move in her stomach, but she couldn't tell if it was her new babe or a noose looping around her heart, her neck. Was this babe the valonqar coming for her life? Cersei had always assumed that it would be Tyrion, but this would be equally terrible.

Joff was only two years old what would happen to him if she died? Robert would never be his father, not in any way but name, she doubted he'd ever even held the child. He was always out with whores or a hunting party, he was not a real father. Would Jamie stay and raise him? Yes. Even still Joff would never know that he had the love of a parent.

She opened the door to the nursery just as Joffrey's toy hit one of his nurse’s legs. "Oh, come here, my sweet boy!" She said leaning down and opening her arms to him.

He toddled over but not before sending a smug look at the nurse putting away his many toys. Joffrey was supposed to be her last. She knows she spoiled him rotten. She doesn't care in the slightest. Cersei only wished she could spoil him further, live longer.

"Do you want any sweets?" She said picking him up.

"Your grace, he hasn--"

Cersei narrowed her eyes at the nurse, she was old and had a pinched exasperated look on her face. "Are you telling me how to raise my child?"

"Of course not, your grace."

"Then please continue whatever you were saying," she commanded adjusting Joff onto her hip.

The nurse looked like she has about to break down, "It's just-- I apologize."

"I'm sure your apologies are worth quite a lot to you, sadly it seems your job isn't."

"Your-"

"Leave me with my son."

She averted her eyes as she turned to leave. She looked at Joff who was still looking off at the door. "Let's go get some sweets, Joff," she says calmly following the nurse out of the room.

She planned to spoil Joff for a long time. Maybe, if this child survived, she'd spoil them, too.

* * *

 

RIVERS

_ 287 AC _

The first thing Catelyn noticed when she held her third born child in her arms was the thin dark brown hair that covered their head. Then their long face and stormy grey eyes and then that they were, in fact, a girl.

Not that she was disappointed! Just as she wasn't disappointed with Robb or Sansa's birth for any reason! But she really would have preferred a boy, if only to secure her position as Lady of Winterfell and get the burden of Robb's secret off her chest.

The girl was tiny and crying loudly as Cat held her, but the second Ned joined her in the room she quieted. "Another girl."

He knelt down at her bedside and positioned the babe between them on the pillow. "She looks like you."

She let out a quick laugh. "In what world does she look like me?"

"She's beautiful for one," he told her leaning up to kiss them both on their foreheads. "And I might not know her very well but I'm sure she'll be just as strong as you are, too."

"Am I strong?" Catelyn asked looking down at her newborn daughter.

"Of course, this place would go down in flames without you," he said seriously. "Not to mention the three lovely children you've given me."

Cat smiled despite the stab of fear she felt in her gut. She should tell him about Robb now. Not that his elation would soften the blow, partially that, but that all of this has gone too far. She should tell him because Ned was too good to send Robb away for this. He was a good lord, an even better father and he deserved to know. "Ned, I-"

"What do you think her name is?" he asked picking up the babe's little arm and counting her fingers. "I was thinking Minisa, after your mother?"

Her thoughts stopped abruptly. "And name our only child that looks like a Stark after a Tully?"

"All of our children look like Starks, they are Starks," he pointed out. Cat had never seen him smile so wide and for so long.

"I thought maybe Lyanna," she told him softly placing her hand atop his.

Ned sighed heavily, his usual solemn look returning to his face. "I don't think I could handle having a daughter like Lyanna. I don't think-"

"Then we won't," she said quickly wanting to bring his good mood back. "But what about Lyarra? Or Arya? I'd like her to have a northern name, I suppose."

"Arya Stark," he nodded a small smile on his face. "I think it fits her well."

"Ned, about Robb--"

"I know he's been throwing food at meal times, I'll talk to him," he said not taking his eyes off Arya.

Catelyn swallowed her fear, he was so good. How could she tell him this? What if it broke them?  _ Next time,  _ she thought.  _ If it's a boy. If. If. If.  _ "Thank you so much, really, I couldn't ask for a better husband," she told him bringing her hand up to cup his face. "I love you."

* * *

 

RIVERS & SNOW

_ 288 AC _

Eddard had been looking over Thom Forrester proposition of a new grain tower for Winter town down the road when he heard Ser Rodrik's cries of, "Position, Jon," followed by a heavy thud below his solar. He stood making his way over to the window to see what trouble the boy was in.

He was pleased to see that it really was no trouble at all, as Jon scrambled up and took a stiff fighting position as Robb squared himself in enough leather armor to drown the 5-year-old. He let himself smile at the sight as the boys exchanged blows, laughing whenever they missed.

Every so often watching the two of them his brain will travel back to the Eyrie, where Robert and he had played games quite similarly, only for a second though. He stops when he remembers what had become of his old friend, and what had become of himself. Ned doesn't want his boys to be a distant and respectful lord or a bitter and resentful king. He thinks about Jon's small claim to the throne as Rhaegar's bastard and wonders how likely that scenario is.

No, they'll never be that. Because as much and Robert and he had acted like brothers they had never been family. They were never blood. He wonders if that is what he lost when his father sent him to foster at the Vale. He loved his life at the time but he wonders what it would have been like to have more memories of Lyanna and Brandon and even Benjen who left so soon after Ned came back to Winterfell.

He walks back over to his desk and closes his ledgers. He never got to be a good brother, but he would be a good father if it killed him. Gods help him, he feared it would.

* * *

 

WATERS

_ 289 AC _

Gendry is sat with his hands on his knees, one of his mother's old hats on his lap, and his back stiff against one of the few trees in the plaza. He had been sitting there for nearly half the day and now he could barely see the sun over top the rooves of Flea Bottom. He had seen over a thousand smallfolk and a few dozen nobles pass by and in the end, he still only had one star, six halfgroats and ten pennies.

He had left his mother in their room sick at dawn to find the best location to panhandle in the plaza in the center of the whole city. His mother had become increasingly ill over the past few months, the tavern wouldn’t let her work for the last six and a half weeks. For a while, she seemed to have rent and food handled, leaving at odd hours and coming back with two or three stags every time. But then she got worse leaving Gendry to figure out how to provide.

He started out his begging down near the Sept of Baelor but after realizing how many other kids were doing the same he had moved into the square. Not many of the orphans panhandled here, for fear the Goldcloaks would take them in for loitering, but he needed the money and was small enough to hide when they walked through. He made out okay most of the time, though he sometimes had to pickpocket the last few coppers for two bowls of brown.

Gendry sighed, putting the coins in his pockets and then stuffing the hat beneath his arm. He got up and started making his way to the cheapest potshop down on Muddy Way. The street was aptly named for the most part and the smell from Fishmonger’s Square. He came up to the pot to see Peds stirring in cut up meat in. “Peds?” he said quietly trying to catch the man’s attention. The line was all the way down the street but if no one saw him Peds would take pity on him and give him the bowls without the wait.

“One star for both,” he said already handing him the bowls stacked together. Gendry traded him for one star, four halfgrouts, and a nod. He started heading down to his mom’s room in Flea Bottom.

_ It’s chicken, this time, _ he thought.  _ This time I’m right.  _ It was never chicken. The pot had been running for years, the people who ran it were constantly adding whatever meat they could find so it was impossible to know what it all was. Didn’t stop anyone from hoping it wasn’t rat though.

He turned down the narrow street and clamored up the stairs to his mother. She was lying on the mattress in the middle of their room just as he left her. “Ma, I got the brown, wake up,” He told her setting the bowls out on the floor and then getting the wooden spoons from the box with the extra coins he’d saved for rent.

When he looked back at her she still hadn’t moved, he moved over to her. “Ma, you need to eat,” he grabbed her hand. He tried to remember how her hand had felt before she had gotten sick, ever since they were warm and sweaty due to the fever. Not now though, now they were stiff and clammy. He could feel his heart speeding up. Gendry knew what that meant.

“Ma, you have to get up, I-” he wanted to tell her how much he still needed her but his words seemed to catch in his throat as tears started forming in his eyes. “Mama, please, please mama,” he started pushing her over until her body was off the mattress, but she was still. “You can’t, please mama. I brou- Mama!”

Gendry clung to her but it only made him feel worse, he had left her all alone this morning. She had died all alone .  “I’m sorry,” he wept into her shoulder, his small arms unable to hug her fully. “I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me, mama.

He wept and pleaded all night, but she was gone.

* * *

 

RIVERS & SNOW

_  292 AC _

It's not often that Catelyn thinks back on her promise to Jon and her gods. Until very recently she had pushed the thought out of her head entirely. But things were different now. She has  _ two _ trueborn sons now. She knows Ned now. He would not disown Robb, he would be more upset by her lying than having raised his brother’s bastard as his heir. She watches Ser Rodrick teaching both Robb and Jon in the yard with their wooden swords. Robb is better than Jon. For Now. Jon looks like a Stark though and that won’t change. Not for the first time she wonders which of them is older. She wants to know because if she were to ask for Jon's legitimacy it could change the line of succession no matter how kind Ned was

She doesn't want to ruin everything. But she fears she might have already by treating Jon so poorly. She has seen Sansa emulate her treatment of Jon calling him a bastard and talking down to him even though she was only seven. She and Robb weren’t close as it is, what would she do if she knew the truth?

Arya wouldn’t care. She could see her second daughter teaching Bran her many methods of jumping in mud puddles to get the best splash. She was ruining her dress and Cat didn’t know how she got away from Septa Mordane but she could let it go for now.

Maybe she could let it all go. Tell everyone everything and damn the consequences.

But Maester Luwin interrupts her contemplation. "Your sister has written, my lady."

"Oh yes, what did it say?" she said moving along the battlements leading him towards the nursery.

"I regret to inform you of the passing of her second son. It seems he has died of pox," Catelyn stopped and grabbed the letter from his hand. Her babe was a year old. Jon almost died of pox at 7 months. But Rickon had only been born 2 months ago. If he died.  _ If. If. If. _

She went off to the nursery leaving any thoughts of truth behind.

* * *

 

WATERS

_ 292 AC _

Gendry was pickpocketing a noble on the Street of Steel when a hand grabs his shoulder. He recognizes Tobho Mott in an instant, he had been loitering outside his shop for nearly two years now. It's not that he wants to be a blacksmith, it's the number of nobles that pass by that were willing to spare him change. He always made more outside Mott's smithy than he did anywhere else. The smithing was good too, the steady beat of the hammer was sometimes the only thing that kept him awake.

Mott turned him around and hit him around the ear. “No more begging or stealing, kid. It’s time you work.”

Gendry was too surprised to disagree as the Smith began dragging him inside to stand before an old cluttered workbench. "You will be fed daily and you will have a bed in the back. I will teach you what I know about steel and silver. And some manners, I won't have you stealing from my customers."

Gendry eyed him cautiously, it sounds too good to be true. It was too good to be true. "I don't have the money for an apprenticeship fee."

"It's been taken care of," Mott said crossing his arms. This only worries him more.  "Go wash up, eat, sleep, whatever. You're up at dawn tomorrow to learn the name of every type of weapon we make in this shop. Then you'll polish the finished ones, so you can get a feel of the shape. Day after that you'll do the same with the armor."

It was work. Good work with food. "This is just a job then. No funny business?"

Mott rolled his eyes. "It's an apprenticeship, I'm not paying you shit and you're doing work for me until  _ I  _ decide you're good enough to be a journeyman and start paying you. Don't ya think it's funny that I could easily never make you a journeyman?” he asked.

Gendry only shrugged in response, not sure if the man was looking for an answer.

“Of course, it's funny business!” he yelled over the hammering around them. “It's business. Now if you're asking if I'm some pervert that’s a resounding no. You can ask the others around here, I trained them too when they were a bit older than you."

He considered this for a second already knowing he should agree, being taught a trade skill was unheard of for bastards from Flea Bottom. "Why take on someone younger than usual now?"

"Because it's been taken care of. Your apprentice fee is twice all of theirs," he told him looking down at a book on his workbench.

Gendry’s face scrunched up in confusion. "Who's-"

Mott shrugged and interrupted him "Some lord or another."

_ My father, _ the thought hits him before he can push it down. Gendry was a bit caught off guard by the idea of someone trying to take care of him, even if it was from far away. He shook his head.  _ No,  _ his father had never cared for him before and he had never cared for his father, why should this change anything?

“You want the gig or not?”

“Yes, definitely. Thank you, ser!”

The Smith pulled a disgusted look onto his face and groaned. “Don’t call me that. I ain’t no knight,” he said picking up his hammer and heading further into the smithy.

Gendry followed quietly, trying not to get his hopes up about the years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed it!


	3. Swords and Crowns

SNOW

_297 AC_

Eddard had spent his childhood in the south and he was not looking forward to returning. It was all too hot and too fake for him to breathe. The smell didn't help either. But how could he refuse to go if Jon Arryn had been murdered, if Robert was truly in danger? He had not thought of the man as a brother since he held Lyanna's babe to his chest and realized the king would see him dead. But he was still his king if not his friend. He had to go, and he had to bring his children with him to court, despite his dislike of the south, to ease any suspicions the Lannisters might have.

“What of Jon Snow, my lord?” Luwin said seriously pulling him into a new worry. What would he do with Jon? He couldn't bring him to King's Landing, Ned had never seen any of Rhaegar in his son but then he had never known the man.

“Jon must go,” Catelyn said quickly stepping away from his arms to give him a stern look.

Ned's heart felt heavy. He should have told her. He should tell her. But no, instead he had let her hate him, to protect him, to protect himself and his family. He had not known Catelyn and by the time he did, it was far too late. “He and Robb are close, I had hoped…”

“He cannot stay here," she put a hand on his chest, her expression not changing. "He is your son, not mine. I will not have him.”

“You know I cannot take him south," he said moving away from her. "There will be no place for him at court. A boy with a bastard’s name … you know what they will say of him. He will be shunned.”

She gestured towards the door, rolling her eyes. “They say your friend Robert has fathered a _dozen_ bastards himself.”

“And none of them have ever been seen at court!” he told her trying not to raise his voice too loudly as he continued. “The Lannister woman has seen to that. How can you be so damnably cruel, Catelyn? He is only a boy. He—”

Luwin interrupted him before either of them could argue further. “Another solution presents itself, your brother Benjen came to me about Jon a few days ago. It seems the boy aspires to take the black.”

“He asked to join the Night’s Watch?” Ned's face fell. He felt like he had been punched in the gut. He remembered the speech he gave Ben before he had left to do the same. He had been so angry at his little brother for leaving. Then he’d told him it was the only way he could live his own life, away from the responsibilities a wife might bring. Eddard had been so shocked at his brothers comment he hadn't had the chance to tell him he would never force him to marry before Ben had already said his oaths.

At least he had understood Benjen's reasoning. But Jon was young, and he had no need to worry about marriage as a bastard.

“There is great honor in service on the Wall, my lord.”

The thought dawned on him with a heavy sigh. “And even a bastard may rise high in the Night’s Watch," he said solemnly. People had been telling him that ever since his boy turned ten, though he never thought Jon was listening. "Jon is so young. If he asked this when he was a man grown, that would be one thing, but a boy of fourteen…” Ned cut himself off. It would have felt wrong to let him go no matter his age, but this was worse somehow. He was going south and his son was to travel further North, he had no clue when he'd return and even then he likely wouldn't see him.

“A hard sacrifice," Luwin said calmly. He held no malice for Jon, Ned knew that, and he had always given him good counsel before. "Yet these are hard times, my lord. His road is no cruder than yours or your lady’s.”

He closed his eyes, wracking his hand over his face. “Very well, I suppose it is for the best. I will speak to Ben.”

“When shall we tell Jon?” the maester asked.

“When _I_ must," Ned said quickly. He needed to see the boy's face when he told him. If he could see even a shred of doubt he'd command him to stay no matter Catelyn's wishes. But he feared the boy wouldn't know to doubt himself, he thought himself grown and had his decisions made. Still, Ned could hope.

* * *

 

WATERS

_298 AC_

Gendry had been working with a bellow when the new Hand came to see him, which was better than the last time the nobles came for him. Then he'd had to hand off his work to Venny, who never let him forget it.

He came to stand beside Master Mott wiping the sweat off his brow and running his hand through his shaggy black hair. If he was smart he'd have cut it, but Gendry had never cared much for that idea. “This is Lord Stark, the new Hand of the King,” Mott said, his eyes were hard as if he could tell him to behave with only a look. He turned back to Lord Stark now waving his hand toward him “This is Gendry. Strong for his age, and he works hard. Show the Hand that helmet you made, lad. 

Gendry looked at his master scathingly. He knew the helm was his best work and Mott knew he wouldn't sell it, yet every time a noble comes in he'd make a show of it. So, he led them over to the bench he shared with Ven and handed the Hand his bullhead helm by the horns.

He turned it over in his hands appraising it. “This is fine work," He said before he began to hand it back. "I would be pleased if you would let me buy it.”

“It’s not for sale,” Gendry snapped pulling the helm back to his chest.

Mott tried to hit him over the head but even at four and ten Gendry was already a head taller than the man, so he only hit him on his shoulder. “Boy, this is the King’s Hand. If his lordship wants this helm, make him a gift of it. He honors you by asking.” he told him, command clear in his voice. _Hand it back, boy._

He shook his head, though he knew he'd pay for it later. “I made it for me."

Mott's glare could melt steel by itself, but he let it go, for now, turning back to Lord Stark. The man hadn't stopped looking at him since his outburst, no doubt surprised at being denied. "A hundred pardons, my lord," Mott said tersely. "The boy is crude as new steel, and like new steel would profit from some beating. That helm is journeyman’s work at best," Gendry almost let out a laugh. He tried not to be arrogant, but he was far from modest. The helm was perfect, he just couldn't afford the time to polish it to shine like the rest of the helms in the shop. "Forgive him and I promise I will craft you a helm like none you have ever seen.”

The lord held up his hand to stop Mott from continuing. “He’s done nothing that requires my forgiveness," Stark said shocking him. Any other noble would have seen to it he was beaten for not understanding his place. "Gendry, when Lord Arryn came to see you, what did you talk about?”

Gendry nodded, he had excepted this was about the last Hand. “He asked me questions is all, milord.”

“What sort of questions?”

Gendry shrugged. “How was I, and was I well treated, and if I liked the work, and stuff about my mother. Who she was and what she looked like and all.”

 The lord nodded bringing his hand to his chin. “What did you tell him?”

He couldn't help rolling his eyes at having to repeat himself, he didn't like talking about his mother. “She died when I was little. She had yellow hair, and sometimes she used to sing to me, I remember. She worked in an alehouse,” he said, keeping his voice steady and monotone.

“Did Lord Stannis question you as well?”

“The bald one?" Gendry couldn't help his scoff, or at least that's what he'd tell Mott later. "No, not him. He never said no word, just glared at me, like I was some raper who done for his daughter.”

His master hit his shoulder hard. “Mind your filthy tongue, this is the King’s own Hand,” he told him as if that would come as a surprise to him, as if this wasn’t the third time he’d said it in as many minutes. He turned back to Lord Stark with a small shake of his head. “A smart boy, but stubborn. That helm … the others call him bullheaded, so he threw it in their teeth.”

Gendry smirked a bit with pride and then the Hand grabbed his face. “Look at me, Gendry," He'd have a hard time looking away. The man wore a haunted look that seemed to crawl into the depths of Gendry's soul. It was as if Stark was trying to turn him into a ghost. He shook his head again and let go of his jaw, but the look stayed with him. "Go back to your work, lad. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

With that, the man turned back to the master's house, Mott at his heels. Gendry hoped that was the last time he'd have to talk to a Stark. The man was more unnerving than the old Hand and the bald one combined. He could feel the ghost the man had laid upon him even as he returned to his bellow.

 

_299 AC_

Arry could obviously handle himself. Gendry knew that well after seeing him beat Hot pie into the ground until he shat himself. That doesn't stop him from sticking close to the boy. He was so much smaller than the rest of the orphans Yoren had picked up and Gendry had seen what life in Flea Bottom was like when you were small, he doubted it was much better anywhere else.

From the spot on his donkey could see Arry walking beside him, trying to act like his spanking wasn't bothering him, and Lommy Greenhands on the far side of the path shaking. "You know, every time you look at him, he cowers."

"He should," the boy's voice was so high pitched it almost hurt Gendry's ears when he whinged. He couldn't help wondering how young he was. "I'm dangerous."

"I believe you. If you had been using that steal sword instead of the practice one, Hot Pie'd be dead."

"I know that."

He nodded his head up to where a bright streak of red stains the blue sky. "Wha'd you figure that is?"

"Thought you called it The Red Sword?"

"Sure, but what would you call it?"

"Much the same I suppose. A sword after it's been swung, red with blood."

The way he said it gave Gendry a chill and a sinking feeling in his chest. He looked down at Arry who's eyes quickly turned back to the road ahead "You doing okay kid?"

"I'm fine," he snapped walking faster. _Sure,_ he thought rolling his eyes. _He seems fine to me._

"If you say so."

"I am!" Arry whinged, stomping ahead.

Gendry sighed, it was going to be a long way to the Wall.

* * *

 

RIVERS

_299 AC_

Roose Bolton had few aspirations in life during Eddard Stark's time as Warden of the North. He had seen enough of the man during the rebellion to know not to provoke him, he had seen enough of him during the past seven and ten years to know he was loved by the rest of the lords. And the smallfolk, not that they mattered much. When Eddard Stark was in charge, Roose knew that the only place he'd be allowed his amusements was his own seat at the Dreadfort.

But Eddard Stark was dead now and things had changed. The North had a child leading them and though they followed happily now he was sure to mess up and force a mutiny. Precisely the reason Roose had left his fort to take up banners for him, the closer he was when Robb Stark died the easier it would be for him to assume the position of Warden of the North. And then his lords had named the boy a King.  He figured a crown was only appropriate payment for the centuries his family spent licking at the boots of one Stark after another. Yes, he liked the idea of a crown very much.

The only problem was that the boy hadn't failed. It had been almost a year since his banners were called and somehow this child was outmaneuvering Tywin Lannister. And now Roose was being ordered to stay at Harrenhal while the rest go on to Riverrun for a funeral. He gritted his teeth walking away from the council room to keep his face as blank as usual.

"Uncle," he heard Catelyn Tully's voice from the door to his left. "There are secrets we all hold close. You're no different."

His eyes widened a fraction. Secrets, right out in the open where he could take them, he wouldn't even need to use his knife. Roose moved closer to the wall staying in the shadows still. He could hear the Blackfish through the door just barely. "This secret broke your father and I. We were close as boys you know? Until he started pushing at me to marry and-"

"Robb is Brandon's son," she interrupted him. The silence that followed her statement was palpable. That certainly was a bigger secret than Brynden Tully's proclivity to sword swallowing. While they had been betrothed Catelyn Tully and Brandon Stark had never wed, making their new king a bastard and the true heir to the crown a crippled boy of one and ten who was already rumored dead.

Roose smiled and turned to leave the corridor. They needn't know anyone overheard them, he thought. Already writing out his letter to Tywin Lannister in his mind.

Roose Bolton had few aspirations in life, after all, who in Westeros could say they didn't want a crown. 

* * *

 

WATERS

_300 AC_

When he found out that Arry the orphan was actually Arya of House Stark, he had no clue what to think of her. On one hand, he had respected her as Arry, no matter her gender or size she was a ferocious beast in a fight and he'd felt a sort of comradery with her after finding she'd almost seen her father killed. But on his other hand was the lady bit. From the time he was eight, Gendry had been taught that ladies all needed to be waited on and bowed to, and he just couldn't do any of that without Arya kicking him.

Whatever Gendry might have thought then, it had changed now as she motioned him and Hot Pie to follow her. He'd seen that she'd killed some of Lorch's men on the road and she'd told him about the stable boy, but this seemed different somehow. The stable boy she'd killed before he'd known her and at Gods Eye, they had fought side by side, but now she had slit a man's throat to lead him and Hot Pie out of Harrenhal.

Gendry had been following people his whole life, but he'd only ever had them ordering him. Yet here Arya was killing a man to get them to safety.

He grabbed Hot Pie by the shirt and followed after her. Gendry hadn't known what to think of Arya Stark once, but now he figured that maybe he would follow her off the edge of the world, as long as she was leading the way.

 

_301 AC_

Lem was heavy into his cups when he asked, "You know who you are?"

"A bastard from Flea Bottom," Gendry said, sipping at the ale Beric had given him, it sounded almost wrong just because of how often he'd been saying it recently.

The man's eyes rolled back, and he let out a laugh. "That’s right but who's bastard?"

Gendry shrugged, confused by the question. "How would I know?"

 Lem took a swig of the wineskin he kept full on his person day and night. Gendry figured it was the alcohol that brought on all these questions, he'd told the Brotherhood enough times that he had no clue who fathered him. "Someone might've told you, I suppose?"

"How would they know?"

He scratched at his chin in fake contemplation. "Perhaps because it's a bit obvious?"

"Oh really? Then who?"

"The King,"

It was Gendry's turn to laugh, that would be his luck he supposed. "Really? Which one? There are only about ten alive right now, huh?"

"The dead one, Robert Baratheon."

His face fell, he hated the old king almost more than the new ones. Constantly calling in for one Tourney or another that would fill the streets and put the locals in danger, constantly whoring and drinking, shelling out dragon after dragon as if they were only halfpennies. "Well, then he lived up to my expectations of a father at least, drunk and useless."

Lem grabbed his sleeve before he could down his ale. "Do you know how much that counts? That an old king’s your father?"

Gendry shrugged, his brows furrowed in annoyance. He didn't care about the dead king even if he was his father. "I don't know, I only just found-"

He interrupted clapping the boy on the shoulder. "It doesn't count for shit, kid."

"Okay then," he nodded "I figured that'd be the case."

"You wanna know why I asked?" Lem said dropping his sleeve.

"Not particularly," Gendry said honestly taking a long chug of ale to deal with Lem's stupid.

"You can't go with her, not here or after," He said sternly putting his wineskin on the ground.

There was no need to clarify who "her" was, but it didn't make Gendry any less confused with the situation. Of course, he could go with Arya, he'd been following the girl around for the better part of three years and he saw no reason for that to change.

"Don't think I haven't seen you two looking at each other every now and then. It can't happen, boy. If it does it'll only get you killed and her ruined." His glare turned from the fire to Lem at the statement his hands clenching into fists. Arya could never be ruined by anyone, let alone him.

"I don't know what in seven hells you're talking about," Gendry said taking a long sip of ale, but Lem only gave him a short glare that had him thinking back to the man's lecture at Acorn Hall about how he wouldn’t be stealing kisses. He went red. He knew exactly what was being said, he stared right back at Lem anyway.

"I'm saying that no matter who your father is, you’re a lowborn bastard from Flea Bottom and she's Arya Stark."

Gendry scoffed looking out across the camp where she was glaring daggers at the Hound. As if feeling his eyes on her, she turns to him. Her eyes are still clouded over but she's not angry at him. "I know who she is, thanks. And I know who I am."

"Then I sure hope she knows, too, because lowborns and princesses they don't get to be friends," Lem said with a sigh before noticing that Gendry wasn't really paying him any attention. The man slapped him upside the head, "And they sure as fuck aren't allowed to look at each other like that."

He looked at the man pointedly as if trying to prove something. "We're not looking at each other, we're friends."

He scoffed dramatically "Yeah, that'll last."

"It will."

"Either way it won't," Lem's whole body shook with laughter. "Whether you go on looking and end up dead or…"

He paused for a long time, waiting for Gendry to ask, "Or?"

"Or if you stay on and Smith for us."

Gendry looked down at his feet. He'd follow Arya to the grave in a second, but this made him pause for some reason. Maybe it was the ale or the idea of leaving Arya before she left him behind, but the thought didn't sound so bad. Maybe it's that he thought Lem could be right about how they were looking at each other. He was six and ten and Arya was about four and ten if he remembered correctly. He'd seen her looking at him since Harrenhal and ignored it, but could he really go on ignoring it now? Now that he'd started looking back at her sometimes?  "I don't know what-"

"Except you do, and you know I'm right."

He wanted to disagree because he knew that Arya would do just about anything to keep him safe the same way he would for her. She would do everything in her power to keep her king brother from killing him if it came to that. But he couldn't disagree, not really, because what good was trying to persuade a king not to kill? He'd never heard of a merciful king before and he doubted that mercy would be given if Arya's noble reputation was called into question. "I don't know that your right, I'm just not sure your wrong either."

"Well then, do you know what you have to do?" 

* * *

 

RIVERS

_301 AC_

Robb Stark hadn't had many good times over the past four and a half years, he'd had no moment of his life that wasn't colored or caused by war and because of that, he had gotten quite used to the sinking feeling of trouble in his gut. He had gotten good at ignoring it sometimes too. "I say we go and make Little Ned Stark a twin," he said, leaning over the table to talk into Talisa's ear.

She smiled at his comment. "You know that’s not how it works right?"

He places a kiss on her cheek. "Is that not how it works? Are you sure or should we test it out?" he says softly eliciting a small giggle from his wife.

"And how exactly would we be testing this?"

"Well, we- "

"Your Grace," Walder Frey said making the room around them go silent, Robb stopped talking and turned to look at him. "I feel I've been remiss in my duties. I've given you meat and wine and music, but I haven't shown you the hospitality you deserve. My king has married, and I owe my new queen a wedding gift."

From behind him, he hears a hard slap and his mother yells out, "Robb!" He turned around to see Bolton running away and Lothar Frey walking forward with a dagger in hand. _No,_ he thought. It seemed like it was all happening in slow motion until the blade hit her stomach once and then again and again. Robb couldn't focus on the blood that was seeping from her wounds though, the look in her eyes and her whimpering in pain was far more horrible _. What have I done?_ He took a step forward wanting to rush forward and comfort her, save her somehow, but the second he moved he was being riddled with crossbow bolts by the Freys on the balcony. _What have I done?_

His shoulder hits the floor as his eyes catch all of his men being slaughtered. _What have I done?_ Robb looked up to see Talisa's hand move slightly over her wounded stomach. She was alive for now, he tried not to think about the babe.

He began crawling forward as the fighting around them came to an end. No, this was not a fight this was a massacre. _What have I done?_

"The King in the North arises." The man's voice echoes off the stone walls reverberating in his ears as he just manages to stand long enough to reach his wife and place a hand on her blood-soaked dress. _No_ , he thought _, she was alive just a second ago._

He heard his mother saying something behind him, but he couldn't understand the words. Robb pressed his forehead to hers. "This is all my fault. What have I done?" he whispered. Frey and his mother were yelling as he placed a final kiss on her lips, he could feel his will to live leaving with her.

His attention was brought back to the room when his mother said his name. "Robb, get up. Get up and walk out. Please! Please!" he heard her say. But he couldn't listen he couldn't leave, he couldn't even take his eyes off Talisa.

"And why would I let him do that? Because he’s some _bastard_ king with a dying army?" _Bastard,_ the word caught in his ears though he couldn’t grasp why it felt important. Frey was only taunting them but in his mother's silence, it rang true.

He looked up at her now, the statement hit her hard as she took a step back dragging Lady Frey by the hair and pushing the knife further into her neck. "On my honor as a Tully, on my honor as a Stark, let him go or I will cut your wife's throat," she shouted.

Robb stood just as Frey said, "I'll find another."

 _What have I done?_ "Mother," he said wanting to tell her there was no use in fighting now. There was no use when everything they had fought for in the first place was dead.

But before he can tell her anything Roose Bolton has grabbed him by the shoulder, "The Lannisters send their regards." He doesn't feel the knife as it enters his body but as Bolton pulls it out the pain is so excruciating Robb doesn't even think of his betrayal.

He feels his head hit the floor and the anguished cry his mother's throat gave out, but he didn't die. He wanted to die. He could feel Talisa's blood covering his hands and his own seeping through his doublet. _How am I not dead?_ He coughed and then Walder Frey started laughing. "The fucking bastard just doesn’t seem to die!"

“What next, father?” Black Walder asked grabbing Robb by his arms.

Walder barked a laugh, “Ah yes what to do with the bastard king who’s too good for my daughter and won’t die?” Robb can feel his blood hot and rising in his throat now, _I will die here. Let me die here with my wife and child. I cannot live with this failure._ “Take him to the dungeons, I suppose.”

Black Walder went to drag him to the closed doors at the back of the hall when Roose stepped in his way. “We kill him.”

“Oh, he’ll die," Lord Frey said taking a bit of mutton on his plate. "And even as he rots below us, we’ve won. His whore and whore mother are dead and the rest of his men with them.”

“Lannister-”

“Doesn’t get a say in what I do with prisoners at the Twins.” He looks to Black Walder who goes on dragging him to the door smearing the blood of his fallen men across the floor. _What have I done?_ "Besides I have more daughters and he's not married anymore."

* * *

 

WATERS & RIVERS

_302 AC_

Robb woke up sweating, the pain of that night had faded but had not passed. He took a deep breath reminding himself where he was, the Crossroads Inn. He had escaped the Frey's and ended up here half dead. His mother had not been so lucky.

His door opened an inch and there was a soft knock. "Are you up?" Jeyne asked quietly.

"Is the Brotherhood still here?" he asked her.

"Some of them," she said taking a step into his room. "Only--"

"Then I'm not awake," he told her turning over on the stiff bed.

"Only Gendry stayed behind," she said, he felt a dip in the mattress as she sat next to him. Robb kept his eyes screwed shut. "You should come down. He's not some fanatic, he won't even say anything if you don't talk to him. He's rather broody, rather like you in that way."

"I can't," he whispers. He had avoided seeing any of the Brotherhood after the night they dropped him here six moons ago and he had no plan to change his behavior now.

Jeyne grabbed the blanket off of him, "I know why you hole up in your room when they're here and I'd never tell you to do otherwise. But Gendry is harmless and probably going to be in the forge until nightfall either way."

"Jeyne," he said opening his eyes and looking at her. She stood over him, hands on her hips, his blanket hanging over her shoulder. "No."

"Robb. Yes," she mocked moving to open the door wide. "He's staying here for the next week or two at least and I can't be running up to bring you things and look after the kids, wanna know what that means?"

"You're finally going to let me starve to death?"

"It means you are gonna get out of this bed or so help me god I will send every one of the kids up here to have lunch with you."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"That's because you've never stayed downstairs long enough to see the mess they make, trust me, you won't want to stay in this room after they're done with it."

"Jeyne," he groaned.

She just rolled her eyes at him. "If you're not down in ten, I'm sending someone up." With that, she left with the door open and his blanket in hand.

He just threw his arm over his face and turned further into the musty pillow beneath him. He was determined to fall back into the tired stupor he'd been in before Jeyne had come in. "Sorry, milord," Robb sat up and stared at the man in the door. He was big and so tall that he couldn't seem to stand straight inside the room. "Jeyne told me to get you for food."

"Don't call me that," he said quietly rolling back over, hoping that it'd be over.

But he doesn't hear the man's steps returning downstairs. "I joined under Beric, you know? I get- I don't know if I'd've stayed if she was leading us then," he said. "I probably would have wanted to avoid the Brotherhood then, too."

"It's not because she's scary," Robb said looking over at the man, Gendry.

He nodded leaning back on the wall. "But she is."

"She was my- I just don't like looking at her."

"I know. I know you're Robb Stark and I know who Stoneheart was." Robb gulped and swung his legs off the bed.

"So, does everyone I'd guess."

“They do," Gendry said shrugging. "Some of them knew your sister. I did, too.”

He snorted. “Oh, please. They never made it out of King's Landing. Sansa sent-"

“Arya made it out with the Night's Watch recruits. I was one of them and we traveled up through the Riverlands together until I signed up with the Brotherhood.”

“She’s alive?” He hated how surprised he sounded. He hated that he hadn't even thought about his sisters since the wedding. He hated that he hadn't even known Arya had made it out of the city. He hated himself.

Gendry looked down at his feet, shame covering his face. “She ran away because… she ran away. The last we heard she was at the Twins but if you survived, she could have too.” He said, his voice strained at the thought of her death. “She was- is the smartest person I know half the time.”

Robb smiled, happy to hear anything resembling hope about his sister’s life. “The other half of the time?”

Gendry rolled his eyes, stepping back into the hall. “Ehh, all of the time but that doesn’t mean much. I don’t know a lot of smart people.”

He stood up from the bed and said, “I think she lived. Arya was always one to do the impossible.”

“And now you have, too.”

“I didn’t survive because I wanted to. They just kept me alive, to laugh at me, to marry me off to one of Frey’s daughters or granddaughters...”

“Than the impossible thing was escaping,”

“Maybe,” Robb said sadly, shuffling forward to the door. “You know they told me I was a bastard. Apparently, my father isn't my father. Arya's only my half-sister.”

“Pretty sure she's your sister either way," Gendry laughed and he started down the stairs. "Plus, if you're actually worried. Your brother Jon is a bastard and she loved him- loves him. I'm a bastard and she didn't care."

Robb followed him down the stairs. Jeyne stopped pouring stew into one of the children's bowls, her eyes widening slightly. "Shit, you got him out of the room. How’d you do that?"

"I'm bribing him with stories about Arya," Gendry told her sitting at the far end of the table. Robb nodded sitting down beside him.

Jeyne shrugged continuing to ladle the stew. "Fair enough." 

* * *

 

 SNOW

_304 AC_

“Ghost,” Jon said opening his eyes and taking in a deep breath. It was the last word out of his mouth before his death and now his first word as he returned to life. He didn’t need to be told about the direwolf’s fate, he had lived it. He’d felt the flames just as real as the daggers that killed him. 

“You have King's blood,” the Red Woman said as he stood up. She had killed Ghost. He wanted to get angry, to strangle her where she stood for justice. But the dead part of him didn’t want to move at all.

“Robb Stark, the King in the North, was my brother,” he said instead, trying not to glare. “I thought you were leaving with Stannis.”

“I mean the blood of the Dragon,” she said ignoring his statement and instead stepping closer to him.

He stood and dropped his mask of indifference. He was a man of the Night’s Watch- No, he is a wolf and he would not be claimed as anything else. “I am no dragon.”

She smirked, her red eyes reflecting the fire from the hearth. “We’ll see. We will see.”

“Has Stannis returned with you?”

“Indeed, we got word that you’re plans had changed concerning Winterfell?”

“They have my sister, Arya, married to a monster. Any man who’ll follow me will help you now.”

“And will the Night’s Watch follow you?”

His grey eyes clouded in anger. “They have that decision to make. It’s either die helping or die when the Night King comes.”

“Perhaps you’d give them a third option? For motivation’s sake?”

“What might that be?”

“Die now.”

Jon wanted to say he’d never consider it, but he didn’t have the patience to lie to himself anymore. 

_***_

 

This was not the first battle Jon had been at, he'd been at Hardhome, he'd fought the wildings at the attack of Castle Black. But he had never felt like this, he had never been in the midst of battle on an open field, men climbing on top of each other in attempts to escape the Bolton soldiers.

As it was he couldn't breathe, he could feel feet on his back and then he heard the hooves of horses. Jon crawled forward, pulling himself out of the dog pile to see falcon banners circling around them breaking Bolton's blockade and letting the dog pile collapse. And at the top of the hill, he sees his little sister for the first time in six years.

He wouldn't have imagined being relieved to see Sansa Stark. And yet he was.


	4. Lost and Found

SNOW

_305 AC_

"What do you think?" Sansa said refolding the note he had handed her from Tyrion Lannister. It felt wrong to sit on this side of her father's desk, but Jon had made it her's along with the lord’s chambers. She gestured for him to sit across from her.

 

"I think that we should see what they have to say and that we _need_ dragonglass," Jon looked even more uncomfortable than she did. Sansa wondered how many times he had been in this room when it was fathers. She had never felt the need to visit her father when she was younger, but Robb had to for his lessons and Jon was often at his heels.

 

Sansa nodded considering his points, "Send a representative then."

 

"I'll be going," Jon looked almost guilty, he had known she would hate this.

 

"You're to be named King in the North," she said her voice raised putting the note down on the desk and closing the ledger she had been looking at. "You can't leave."

 

He shook his head calmly. "I will be the North's representative. I am a Snow, not a Stark. I am a bastard, not a king,”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes at his comment, he was a Stark by blood and that’s what counted. “Then who-”

 

“You. You’ll be Queen in the North.”

 

Her eyes widened. A crown was what she had wanted from the time she was a girl and he was handing her a kingdom. She hadn't thought much of Jon Snow when they were children, but he had obviously been paying attention. Or mayhaps she had once wished for this too loudly. He smiled at her and she returned it gratefully. “Then, as your Queen, I forbid it.”

 

Jon shifted in his seat, a grimace on his face. “Sansa. We need-”

 

She stood to interrupt him. “You are the only family I have left, I will not lose my last brother”

 

He stayed seated his eyes closed tight. “Sansa, I have to do this. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. The army of-”

 

“Maybe not but I did see our father beheaded!" she was trying to keep her voice down somewhat but couldn't stop. "I heard stories of _our_ brother going south to save _me._ I know he and my mother were killed for it. I know that I haven’t seen Arya in seven years, that I haven’t even heard of the real Arya Stark since than either. I was held captive in the south for years! I might not know anything about the land beyond the wall but I do know of the danger past the Neck. Do not patronize me.”

 

“Then what?” Jon asked.

 

Sansa looked down at the list of men they had stationed around Winterfell. It didn't feel right sending any of them. The situation was unquestionably dangerous and so many of these men had families that needed them. She didn't want to send them to die and even if she did it was likely it would be seen as an insult to send someone without a higher position. Then she had a thought, they had someone of a high position in their dungeons, someone who's family would be better off without them. “Stannis,” she suggested.

 

For the first time, Jon looked surprised. He stood now and began pacing the room. “He's set for a trail! He tried to burn his daughter alive-”

 

“And failed," Sansa reminded him, sighing as she sat down at the desk. _Yes,_ she thought, _this could work._ "He was also Lord of Dragonstone for nearly two decades, so he knows the people of the surrounding area. He doesn’t have the best reputation but he has always been a politician, a negotiator. We'll give him terms we'll agree to and consider his negotiation in his trial.”

 

“That would be an execution! If we send a Baratheon to meet with she'll kill him, his brother displaced the entire Targaryen bloodline!”

 

“What is to stop her from killing you? Our father helped him,”

 

Jon stopped at the window looking out at the courtyard. “Do you think father would approve of this plan? You’re sending him down there to die.”

 

He had to know that was an unfair question. Jon knew that she wanted to do right by their father but he has to see that is about more than honor. “Have you spoken with Shireen?" Sansa asked walking to stand at the window with him. "I have. She’s smart and heartbroken. She is kind and too forgiving. Naïve.”

 

“You think you’re protecting her by sending her father on a suicide mission?” Jon asked, he was giving her an incredulous look, upset at her reasoning.

 

She snapped. “I think I’m protecting us! If they kill Stannis they could just as easily kill you! Why are you so eager to go on a suicide mission!”

 

“Because someone has to!” It was the first time he had raised his voice at her but that wasn't what made her flinch. He knew he could die there, he just didn't care.

 

“I'll send a raven back. Tell them we have our own war to fight,” she said heading back to the desk to pick up their note.

 

“This is their war, too!” He shouted.

 

“They won’t see it that way.”

 

“You can’t kn-”

 

Sansa interrupted him infuriated by his obvious death wish. “Then let me send Stannis. Let’s see them prove me right!” She hadn't even noticed her tears falling. Jon had though, his whole face softened and he went back to sit down.

 

“Sansa. We’re talking in circles,” he said his voice lowered once again.

 

She closed her eyes, her nailed dug into the heels of her palm. "I've noticed.”

 

“I’m going," He said once again. There is no hesitation in his voice, no guilt at leaving. "I’ll bring Stannis if you want. But I’m going.”

 

Her tears fell openly no matter how much she tried to wipe them away. “I can’t do this on my own.”

 

“You can. I know you can,” He stood and came to put a hand on her shoulder. Sansa thought he looked like Robb in that moment, as she looked up at him. He was looking at her the way Robb always had, proud but still slightly annoyed.

 

“How? I was so vapid and mean as a child. How can you trust-”

 

“Because you’re not a child anymore," he told her. “We all changed when we left Winterfell.”

 

 _No,_ Sansa thought, _most of us died._

 

 

WATERS

_305 AC_

"You're all wondering why I brought you all here. After all, we just had a feast. Since when does old Walder give us two feasts in a single fortnight." She said. Her voice was gravely and a perfect match for the face of Walder Frey. She remembered to act out some of his mannerisms she'd picked up from the feast where she had waited on him. The hall was filled with people who killed her family, all of them laughing merrily at the feast she had prepared. "Well, it's no good being lord of the Riverlands if you can't celebrate with your family. That's what I say!"

 

The Freys cheered slamming their fists on their tables and calling out their father’s praises. Arya snaps his fingers at a servant girls pointing to the wine she had brought up earlier. "I've gathered every Frey who means a damn thing so I can tell you my plans for this great house now that winter has come. But first, a toast! No more of that Dornish horse piss! This is the finest Arbor gold! Proper wine for proper heroes!"

 

Arya smiled as they receive the glasses but before any of them have a chance to drink, she called out. "Stand together!"

 

"Stand together!" They all chorus before taking their drinks. Most of them were already in their cups, they didn't bother with restraint in favor of chugging the laced wine. Arya holds the cup to his lips to hide her smirk.

 

Walder's wife goes to pick up her cup and Arya pushes her hand down. "Not you. I'm not wasting good wine on a damn woman." She looked down fear clear in her eyes. She reminded herself that after tonight this girl would be free.

 

She turned back to address the Freys. "Maybe I'm not the most pleasant man. I'll admit it. But I'm proud of you lot. You're my family, the men who helped me slaughter the Starks at the Red Wedding."

 

There are sounds from outside the banquet hall, but Arya ignores it continuing on with her speech. "Yes, yes. Brave men, all of you. Butchered a woman pregnant with her babe. Cut the throat of a mother of five. Slaughtered your guests after inviting them into your home. But you didn't slaughter every one of the Starks." Some of the Freys groan. The noises are getting closer. She can kill her way out of here if need be. "No, no, that was your mistake. You should have ripped them all out, root and stem. Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe."

 

The Freys choke, cough, and spit up blood and Arya stands ready to take off Lord Frey's face when the door opens wide revealing about ten men led by a lady cloaked in a vail. She walks away from the high table and is surprised to recognize someone.

 

"Harwin?"

 

The man looked confused and Arya went to take off the face. But the cloaked woman lets out a horrific screech and moves forward her hands grasping for her throat. She’s strong, unnaturally strong. Black spots start to form in her vision. Arya is about to grab the knife she had in her pocket when she sees Tully blue. Instead, she finally pulled off the mask.

 

“Arya?” She heard someone say but it sounded far away. The woman’s hand doesn’t let up until someone pushes her and she drops Arya’s neck causing her to fall, the bodies of dead Freys cushioning her. She gasps and wheezes but still manages to grab at her knife holding it out in case she came at her again. Harwin was trying to reason with her now. “It’s Arya, my lady! She is your daughter!”

 

The woman reaches up to grasp at her own throat where there was a gaping hole. _“Frey!”_ She moves forward again but Harwin tries to stop her.

 

Her voice is raspy and nearly unrecognizable but something in it hits Arya’s heart. “Mother?”

 

But it didn’t matter. While her eyes were still Tully blue this was a shell of her mother. She pushed Harwin out of her way and went to strangle Arya but on instinct, she pushes her knife deep into her mother's heart.

 

It takes her a second to realize what she’d done. She just killed her mother.

 

The room stays quiet as they all tried to process what happened but soon a cry runs out, “G _et her!”_ One of the men, a boy really, steps towards her unsheathing his weapon. But a tall man steps between them. “She killed Stoneheart!” the boy yelled.

 

“Stoneheart was dead already.” It was Gendry. This was the Brotherhood. What had happened to Westeros after she left? “Gunther sheath your sword before you lose it.”

 

“But I-”

 

“Someone make sure Harwin is breathing? The rest of you don’t— The Freys are dead and so is Stoneheart. The Red Wedding avenged.” Gendry looked back at her for a second before turning to the room. “Find some wine or ale, not from this room, to celebrate. We’ll start towards the Crossroads in the morning.”

 

“What about the girl—”

 

“Is Harwin breathing?”

 

The boy he referred to as Gunther knelt down and pressed his fingers to the man’s pulse point. “No,” he told him eyes downturned. “What about the girl?”

 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What about the girl?” She excepted him to tell them all who she is, she narrowed her eyes mayhaps he forgot her or couldn’t recognize her. Arya grabbed the bench next to her and tried to stand up but ended up just sitting upon it.

 

“She killed-”

 

“Stoneheart was already—”

 

“I’m Arya Stark.” She interrupted him pulling the rooms attention to her. “I’m sorry at the death of your Lady but I just killed my mother. She just tried to kill-” Arya couldn’t finish that sentence her voice thick with emotion. Understanding colors the groups faces, they’re all boys it seems, Gendry is the only one left from the old ranks or at least the only one here.

 

“Do as I’ve said,” Gendry commanded. A few rolled their eyes but all of them left quickly. “Are you okay?”

 

She just stared at him for a second. “I’m fine.”

 

“Yeah,” he smiled, rolling his eyes. “You seem fine to me.”

 

“I am.”

 

“Arry, you don’t have to act strong right now. I know what it… you don’t have to act strong right now.”

 

There was an uncomfortable silence that filled the room. Arya hated it. “What happened to her?”

 

“Beric brought her back but she was different. Like that. The Brotherhood’s been led by her ever since. Trying to avenge the Red Wedding, guess you got there before us.”

 

“You’re not going to ask about that?” She pointed at the discarded face of Walder Frey next to her mother’s body.

 

“I wasn’t planning on it. I’ve been following an undead woman who ran on death and revenge, I can’t judge… point is if you don’t want to tell me, I’m not asking.”

 

“You pushed her then,” It wasn’t a question.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You’ve been following her for nearly four years. Where’s your sense of loyalty?”

 

“Where it needs to be. Where it has been for the last five years.”

 

 _With her,_ the implication was there. “Then why did you stay.”

 

“We’re doing this now?” he asked concern covered his face and his eyebrows raised in surprise.

 

“I can’t tell you about the last four years. I don’t want to talk about my mother. Why did you stay?”

 

"Okay then…I'm a bastard and you're a lady-"

 

"I’m not-"

 

He barked out a laugh. "You're right! Actually, you were a princess! My mistake!"

 

"I needed you! I- you were my family, even if I wasn't yours," she snapped tears welling in her eyes. This was why she didn't want to talk about her mother, her past. She hadn't cried since she threw all her clothes into the waters in Braavos, but it seemed she couldn't stop now.  "I had you when I had no one and you abandoned me."

 

"Arya, I'm sorry. I-- You are the closest thing I've ever had to family. But Lem told me somethings and he was right. Lowborns and highborns don't get to be friends. Espec- Especially not lowborn boys and highborn girls and especially not at our age." His face went red.

 

"Why did you care what was allowed?"

 

"Well, I wasn't exactly looking forward to being drawn and quartered by- "

 

"I wouldn't have let that happen."

 

He smiles sadly. "I know you would have tried."

 

Arya's crying like a little girl now. She put her head on his shoulder hoping he wouldn't notice her weakness.

 

"One more thing," he said a lilt excitement in his voice.

 

"What?"

 

 

WATERS & RIVERS

_305 AC_

Jeyne smiled out the kitchen window, the orphans were really quite charming when they aren't all vying for your attention at once. She watched as Robb picked Davis up and swung him around and the rest of them playing with their wooden swords. Played wasn't the right word, she supposed as she saw Joyce the oldest of them knock Marcus to the ground. He was teaching them to fight.

 

"You're supposed to be cooking not staring," Willow said from behind her grabbing the chickens she had de-feathered and going to the finish washing them. 

 

She looked at her sister, rolling her eyes and moving to instead cut up some carrots and potatoes. She could still see both the children and the road to the Inn at this angle though. "You do realize you're younger than me, right?"

 

"And yet I'm still smarter," Willow responded.

 

Her smile didn't waver. Willow was only four years younger than her, but Jeyne had practically raised her. "Yes, you are." They work in silence for a while the noise of the children hurrying them along.

 

She heard horses on their way at least ten of them. "The Brotherhood is back," she said not looking up from her knife.

 

"Or it's someone here for our heads."

 

"It's the Brotherhood."

 

"You can't even see them; how do you always know?"

 

"I just do," she shrugged wiping her hands clean with a rag. "I'll be back I'm just going to tell Robb."

 

"It looks like you don't have to…" Willow was looking out the window now, too. Twelve horses but only eleven living people; Lady Stoneheart was nowhere in sight.

 

Gendry is at the front of the group as they make their way to the stables. If anyone found it strange that he was acting like their new leader no one had said anything. She sees a girl jump off her horse, not bothering with the rains, and run towards Robb. She grabbed her crossbow and goes to the exit of the Inn but instead, the girl is hugging Robb, he's spinning her around in his arms both of them crying.

 

"How on earth are you alive?"

 

"I could ask the same of you!"

 

She wondered if this is Talisa, she's beautiful and tanned by the sun and she knows Stoneheart had wanted to storm the Twins. And Robb loves her. Jeyne shakes her head Robb said he felt Talisa's heart stop beating in his hands. He’d wept for hours and had nightmares for years. Talisa was dead and she was staying dead even if it was a tragedy. Then who is she?

 

That’s when she sees Gendry's smile. Gendry is forever grumpy unless-- She walks over to him. "It's Arya isn't it?"

 

He nodded "She was at the Twins. Killing the Frey's"

 

"Like mother li-"

 

Gendry interrupts her shooting her a glare. "No."

 

Jeyne rolls her eyes. "Where is the Lady anyway?"

 

"Dead. She attacked Arya thinking she was Walder Frey," Jeyne furrowed her eyebrows and looked back at Arya. She certainly didn't look like a ninety-year-old man to her. "Don't ask."

 

She nodded turning to him. "So, Stoneheart is dead. What now?"

 

"Whatever Arya and Robb want to do I suppose," He started walking towards the forge, a clear sign that he wanted the conversation to end.

 

"You might not have noticed but it seems that everyone else is following directions from you," she told him, not easily deterred by the return of his usual behavior.

 

"I doubt that," he said running a hand threw his hair. "But if it is true, I'd say whatever Arya and Robb want to do."

 

Jeyne couldn't help but laugh. "Whatever _Arya_ wants you to do you mean," she had spent years listening to him gushing about Arya Stark and teasing him about his crush in turn. It takes a minute to realize he had no response and had just continued walking to the forge. "Wait, no denial?"

 

He stays quiet before saying, "Robb is my friend you know"

 

She tilted her head to the side giving him an overexaggerated calculated look. "But you're not in love with Robb"

 

"No, he's all yours," she punched him in the arm. His teasing had become expected every time she mentioned Arya. Jeyne was not in love with Robb, it was nice to have him around, and he was her friend. If she liked looking at him that was hardly a crime. It would never happen even if she _was_ in love with him though, not while he still mourned for his wife. "And I'm not _in_ love with Arya either but--"

 

"But?" she smiled prettily, jumping up to sit on his workbench.

 

"Shut up, Jeyne."

 

"Not a chance. I get the feeling you'd follow her to the grave smiling, which is bizarre because I think this is the first time I've ever seen you smile."

 

Gendry crossed his arms over his chest and gave her an almost incredulous look. "I smile."

 

"You're only proving me right with that grimace," she giggled kicking his leg.

 

"You must be Jeyne." She didn't even notice Arya had moved towards the forge. Robb ran behind her smiling brightly.

 

"This is my sister, Arya," he said slightly out of breath.

 

"I've heard a lot about you from both of these bastards," Jeyne said grinning and shaking her hand.

 

"All good I hope?"

 

"Define good?"

 

"That's promising."

 

 SNOW

_306 AC_

"Well, those aren't at all terrifying," Davos said leaning on one of the ship masts. Three dragons circled the palace, screeching and snapping at each other.

 

"It's an intimidation tactic," Stannis said as he walked on to the deck, rubbing his wrists which had only now been untied. The smuggler glared at the man and left the area quickly. "Don't fall for it."

 

Jon looked up at the dragons and felt no fear. He felt surprisingly indifferent even as he saw something that looked like a goat falling to the ground, even knowing that it could easily be a person. He thinks for a moment about the Red Woman's insistence that he is the blood of the dragon and wonders if that’s why he doesn't feel the horror he should.

 

_No. That's because, by all means, I should be dead already._

 

***

 

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains." Missandei of Naath recited as they stood at the doors to the throne room. The many titles echoed off the black stone walls for a minute and then they all stood in silence staring at each other. The Queen was quite beautiful, she looked exactly like the Targaryens from the old stories did with long silvery blonde hair and violet eyes. Looking at her Jon is reassured that he couldn't be related to the Taragaryans, he looks nothing like them after all.

 

But then none of his siblings looked like their father and they were all Starks.

 

Davos stepped forward, pulling Jon back to reality. "This is Jon Snow and Stannis Baratheon."

 

Her eyes seemed to burn and for a second Jon felt the fear you should have in the presence of a dragon, then he realized her glare was not for him. "You led the assault on Dragonstone, did you not?"

 

"I did," Stannis said. Jon's eyes widened slightly, he hadn't thought of that connection, he wondered if Sansa had.

 

"Do you have anything to say on that matter?" Queen Daenerys asked arching an eyebrow at him and feigning a calmness that her eyes betrayed.

 

"Nothing that you would like to hear," He responded tersely without pride or fear in his voice. Jon wished he had just apologized but he wasn't foolish enough to think that was a possibility.

 

"And yet you come here. I hear you've been declaring yourself King as the Usupuer's true heir," she said. The malice in her voice for Robert Baratheon is potent and he is happy it isn't directed at him. "Despite the fact that it is a Targaryen throne by birthright. Is this true?"

 

"And yet it's a Baratheon throne by right of conquest," Stannis corrected before looking at each of the soldiers, Dothraki and Unsullied lining the room before continuing. "And I did not _come_ here, I was _brought_ here. Jon Snow is the one you should be speaking with."

 

The Queen looked surprised and then her eyes fell on him. "The North sends a bastard?"

 

"I was Lord Commander of the Nights Watch and am now brother and Hand to the Queen in the North, your grace," Jon said having expected his credibility as a diplomate to be challenged on account of his birth. Tyrion smiled, though it was small enough that only Jon could see, at Sansa's new title.

 

"The Queen in the North?" she pauses pursing her lips. "Forgive me, my lord. I never did receive a formal education, but I could have sworn the last King in the North was Torren Stark who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen in exchange for his life and the lives of the northmen. Torren Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. But do I have my facts wrong?"

 

"You do," Jon said quickly, hurt by the erasure of his brother who died fighting the North's independence. She might have been in Essos during the War of the Five Kings but it startled him that he could be so easily forgotten. "The last King in the North was Robb Stark and he made no such promise."

 

Her glare returned at his remark. Mayhaps, he should have used a different tone because now her glare fell to him. "But your ancestor's oath stands in perpetuity. Which means…what does perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?

 

Tyrion responded not taking his eyes off Jon. "Forever."

 

"Forever, yes," she said with a smile that did not reach her eyes. "Thru the generations. So, I assume, My Lord, that you're here to bend the knee.

 

He took a deep breath before saying. "I am not."

 

"Oh. Well, that is unfortunate," Her fake smile stayed in place though it did look more strained than it had been. "You've traveled all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?"

 

"Break faith?" he asked amused by the term. How could he break faith with something no one had faith in? House Targaryan had ruled by fear since the days of the conquest, even as their dragons died, they built their reputation on their superiority making the individual kingdoms fear their armies despite the fact that they weren't nearly as large as their own. "Your father burned my grandfather alive. He burned my uncle alive. He would have burned the Seven Kingdoms to ash-"

 

"My father was an evil man," She interrupted him looking at her hands. He wonders if she was surprised that he brought it up, she couldn't be as it was on her father's grave her claim to the throne was written. 

 

"On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family." Jon looked forward not saying anything but still wondering if that extended to the crimes of her brother who had kept his aunt in the Tower of Joy which was the cause of the Starks trip to the capital in the first place.

 

"And I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father. Our two houses were allies for centuries. Those were the best centuries the kingdom's ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity with the Targaryens sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North." He tilted his head slightly but still tried to keep his composure, what history had she found where there was prosperity in Westeros? Sure, there were times of peace but they never lasted.

 

"I am the last Targaryen, Jon Snow. Honor the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name you Warden of the North. Together we will save this country from those who would destroy it." She looked proud of that speech like she couldn't imagine he could argue against her points.

 

He, however, is affronted by her proposition and insulted on his sister's behalf. Even if they were to surrender to her he would never take Winterfell from Sansa. "You're right. You're not guilty of your father's crime. And my sister is not beholden to our ancestor's vows." Her face fell with his statement her annoyance clear even to him. Next to him, Stannis shifted giving what almost looked like a smirk at his statement.

 

"Then why are you here?"

 

"Because I need your help and you need mine," He said simply, he saw her look towards Tyrion but continued despite her lack of attention. "Because I knew Aemon Targaryen and don't believe that everyone from your bloodline is mad. I'm here because I have to hope that your ambition for the throne won't stop you from doing what's right."

 

Queen Daenerys' eyes snapped back to him, the fire in her eyes that she had shown Stannis met him now. "I can do what's right after I take the Iron Throne."

 

But the glare did not burn him as he had thought it might. "If your contingency for the safety of Westeros- the people you claim to care for and wish to rule- is that you come to power first, I certainly wouldn't want you as my queen."

 

She takes a deep breath and a look of indifference covers her face. "I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it." She stands from her throne and begins walking towards him. She spares a glance at Stannis at her statement but her expression doesn't change. "We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib." Jon wonders the same. He wonders if his father cared at all after watching his sister die in his arms. He wonders where the line between loyalty and honor lied for his father and when Robert had crossed that line. If there was a line at all.

 

"Not that it matters now of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don't remember all of their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled," The Queen continued forward. "Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea. Any sea. They did for me. I freed my people from their chains. They made me Queen. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will.

 

Jon was not unmoved by her speech, there was no way he could understand the strength it took to live her life. "I'm sure your people loved you in Essos," he said earnestly. "We are not in Essos. The North has no slaves for you to free."

 

"And yet you need me to save you?"

 

He shook his head, this was not about saving the North this was a threat to the realm as a whole. "Your grace, everyone you know will die before winter is over if we don't defeat the enemy to the north."

 

"As far as I can see, you are the enemy to the north."

 

"I am not your enemy. The dead are the enemy," Her eyes widen and she looks over at Tyrion. Jon realized he had put it too bluntly.

 

"The dead?" she asked an amused lilt in her voice that annoyed him to no end. He realized it was hard to believe but to laugh at the idea even as her dragons could be heard outside was irritating, were they not myths and legend before she saw them?

 

"The Army of the Dead is on the march," He said.

 

"The Army of the Dead?"

 

She was smiling now and Jon had to grit his teeth to keep himself from yelling. He turns to Tyrion instead, "You don't know me well, My Lord, but do you think I am a liar or a madman?"

 

"No, I don't think you're either of those things," Tyrion said though he looked suspicious at his claims as well.

 

"The Army of the Dead is real." He insisted. "The Others are real. The Night King is real. I've seen them. I've seen them die but only by Valyrian Steel or Dragonglass. If the North falls he will march them south and, your grace, winter is coming."

 

Daenerys scoffed taking a step back from him. "You are asking me to fight in your war and you won't give me anything in return."

 

He nodded. "I don't have the authority to give up the North. Even if I did I wouldn't."

 

"So why should I help you?"

 

"Queen Sansa knows Cersei," He said. Sansa had told him that she had learned a lot from her. Enough to know that she would rather the city be sacked and for her to die than give the thrown up willingly. Enough to know that her children were not her only weakness. "After the war for the dawn, we might not have the military strength to help you but will have invaluable intel on your enemy."

 

"There are other people who know Cersei. Some of them are my allies," She waved her hand dismissing his offer.

 

Jon gritted his teeth. "True enough though I'd argue they know Cersei from afar as enemies or perhaps for a time they were her allies. Sansa was her prisoner for years, albeit her cage was nicer than a cell but when someone knows you dislike them and thinks you are weak they reveal things about themselves they would otherwise keep hidden."

 

The Queen nodded, no doubt having experienced similar oppression in her own life. But when she looked at Jon her eyes were hard. "I want to be Queen of all Seven Kingdoms I will not budge on that."

 

His eyebrows furrow and he takes a step back from her. "Didn't your note mention an alliance with the Dornish and the Ironborn? I doubt they'll bend a knee when this is all over."

 

"They'll accept it when I've finished Cersei and Euron," she said simply beginning to walk back to her thrown. "They want revenge."

 

"More than freedom?" He laughed, though he had been trying not to. "You wanted to talk about history when I first walked in. What about the long history of rebellion from the Iron Islands? Or the fact that Dorne has refused to be conquered by your family for over 300 years?"

 

"I am not my family," she said firmly turning to him from her spot on the steps.

 

"And yet you want to claim the throne as your birthright? As your _Targaryen_ birthright?"

 

"Did you not just say you believed the Targaryens weren't villains?" She asked loudly her composure lost.

 

"I don't think _all_ Targaryens are villains," he clarified. "But you don't need to be a villain to reap the benefits of the atrocities your ancestors committed to this continent."

 

She glared at him but said nothing for a long moment. A man in yellow robes came to the stand by her but she held up her hand before he could whisper in her ear. "Take your dragonglass, what need do I have for it?" Jon couldn't help the sigh of relief he let out. "But I will not go North."

 

He nodded. "I thank you for this kindness, your grace."

 

"I thank you for your counsel, you've given me quite a lot to think about," She said before looking at one of her Dothraki soldiers and giving them a command to escort them out. He looked between Stannis and Davos to see if they saw this as a victory but Stannis had only just left the throne room and Davos looked concerned.

 

"They die by fire, too, don't they? What breathes fire?" he whispered to Jon.

 

"They do. But people die by fire, too, soldiers. I can’t trust that they could aim only at the wights."

 

They could do this without them, Jon hoped, because there is no alternative

 

 

RIVERS

_306 AC_

Robb was sent ahead to Winterfell alone to tell them of the Brotherhood's impending arrival. He had tried to convince them that they should raise a Stark banner on approach to assure they meant no harm but even Gendry didn't want to drop the _Without Banners_ part of their organization.

 

It's strange riding into Winterfell with no one at his side but he tried not to focus on the hollow feeling knowing that Jon or Theon wasn't racing beside him, that Bran on his pony wasn't trotting behind him.

 

What he couldn't ignore was the fact that he didn't recognize any of the guards on duty and that they were unlikely to believe him if he claimed to be Robb Stark. He took a deep breath swinging his legs off his horse and leading her to the door. "Hello, sers," he said unsure of how to announce himself if not by name. The one on the right puts his hand on the hilt of his sword, Robbs heart clenched but his hand stayed still. "I'm here for work in the forges."

 

He wanted to hit himself for saying that. He's no blacksmith, anyone that looked at his arms could see that the other soldier's hand moved to his swords hilt. "You're a blacksmith?"

 

"No," he said, his eye brows furrowed. "I seek an apprenticeship, I have the fee."

 

"Get lost. You're too old to be an apprentice, " one of them said, but from across the yard he saw someone staring at him.

 

"Bran?" He whispered, he had gotten message that Theon had his brothers burnt alive, but Bran was sitting there alive and well ask he could be. He rose his hand, and someone came to push him closer to the gate.

 

"Close your mouth boy and get out of here," one of the guards said grabbing his arm tightly to toss him away.

 

"Hello, Robb," Bran's voice was somewhat flat. "I'm glad to see you made it. I am sorry about Mother." Robb blinked at his comment. No one had said that to him before, not after the Red Wedding and not after she died at the Twins. He figured they all saw his avoidance as hatred, that he didn't care now. In a way he was relieved he'd never see Lady Stoneheart again, but he hadn't truly grieved for his mother.

 

Robb took a step forward, the guard holding him let go when Bran gave a nod. He hugged his little brother. "What happened to you? How are you alive?"

 

"Theon never killed Rickon or me. Rickon died before they retook Winterfell. And I'm the Three-Eyed Raven now."

 

"Okay," Robb said his eyebrows furrowed unsure of what that meant.

 

"And you are Brandon Stark's son."

 

"I- Ho-" He started before stopping, it wasn't a question. "I didn't know, I just--"

 

Bran interrupted him a small smile on his face that reminded him of their father. "It's okay. Father wouldn't have cared. He had his own secrets."

 

"What secrets?"

 

He smiles again. "It is truly good to see you," he said again before his eyes rolled back in his head.

 

Robb knelt before him, unsure what to do. "Are you-"

 

"He does that sometimes," a voice behind him said. "For the most part he's Bran but sometimes he just goes blank and says things he shouldn't know."

 

He turned around to see Sansa, he rushed forward to hug her. "Sansa!" He said looking down at his sister she was nearly as tall as him now. "You're the Queen now, just like you always wanted."

 

"I suppose," she said motioning him to follow her. The guards giving them a bit of space still.

 

"Not as glamorous as you thought," he said looking back to see Bran being brought back inside by a woman his age and a boy who must have been her brother. It felt strange walking in Winterfell now, nostalgic but he also half expected mother or father or Rickon or Theon or Mikken or Luwin whenever he turned the corner. But they were dead or gone at the very least.

 

"I suppose you'd know," Sansa said when they moved out of the stairwell. She looked at him for a second. "The crown is still yours if you want it."

 

Fear shot through him at the idea. He quickly shook his head. "I-- I can't take it. I'm not a true Stark."

 

She looked back at him surprised and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Bran told me about Uncle Brandon but that hardly means you're not a Stark," she opened the door to their father's solar, or her’s he supposes, and goes to sit.

 

"I never made a good king," He sighed, still shaking his head and his heart still beating too fast. He sat down and let out a deep breath.

 

"You were winning," Sansa said clearly confused. "They were all scared of you."

 

"I was winning as a General. A Commander in war times. But I tried my hand at politics and I failed."

 

"You married for love," she grabbed his hand. "I'd hardly call that a failure."

 

"I'm glad the south hasn't changed you too much, little sister," Robb smiled patting her hand softly and trying not to let his guilt or grief settle in his chest.

 

She shook her head, closing her eyes. "I'm afraid it has."

 

"No. You might not be as naive now but you’re still the romantic you once were."

 

"Maybe sometimes," she gave him a soft smile. It was so clearly sad.

 

"Wait till you see Arya," Robb said wanting to change the subject.

 

"She's alive, too?" she asked a real smile on her face.

 

"Yes and leading a pack of her own," he said rolling his eyes now.

 

"This Brotherhood you were with?"

 

"Yes and no, that's complicated," he said with a laugh, Arya and Gendry had both been attached at the hip and everyone was taking orders from one of them.

 

"What pack than?" she asked.

 

"She found Nymeria," he told her thinking about the wolves eyes always tracking them in the forest until Arya had come and they'd finally revealed themselves.

 

Sansa smiled. "Why doesn't it surprise me that Nymeria never died even when the rest of our direwolves did?"

 

"Because she's Arya's?" they both laugh though it makes him a bit sad to think of Greywind, especially now with other wolves around so often. "You should see this pack, it's massive and Nymeria's the size of a horse!"

 

Sansa nodded before looking up at him again. Her eyes were watering. "Robb? Where was she? All this time and we never heard a word of her."

 

"It-- To be honest I don't really know?"

 

"When did you find her? How did you not--"

 

"She's quiet. I-- at least with me."

 

"Who else is there?"

 

"She knew some people in the Brotherhood already. I don't know how-- well I do but… It's strange to think she trusts them more than us."

 

"She never trusted me. I never gave her reason to."

 

"Maybe."

 

"Robb, I-- I think it's fair to say we've all been through a lot since father died. I'm sure Arya just needs time. The Brotherhood without Banners, are they good men?"

 

He nodded. He had avoided them all for so long because they followed the Lady but they were good men in the end. "For the most part. It's complicated."

 

"Well, if you need time, too, I'm willing to give it to you."

 

"When did you get so wise?"

 

She shrugged and pulled him into another hug. He was glad to be home.


	5. Home and Legacy

SNOW

_307 AC_

Howland Reed had not left his seat at Greywater Watch since the Rebellion and he had excepted he’d stay there until his death. Until he got a letter from his son telling him that he had to come to Winterfell. He takes everything his son says seriously, his sister had been a greenseer and he would never forgive himself for ignoring her warnings about the Stag and the Dragon. Had he paid mind to her and warned Lyanna of their destiny, mayhaps the war could have been avoided.

He was halfway to Winterfell when the wolves came, too many for him to fight with only his three-pronged spear. Howland knew he wouldn’t die; Jojen had seen him at Winterfell and he hadn’t brought anyone with him knowing that while he would make it through this journey in winter others likely would not. So, when the boy rode up to scare the wolves off, he was not surprised. What surprised him was the pure white direwolf that followed behind him.

With the wolves gone, the boy dismounted his horse and held a hand out to help Howland stand. “Are you alright?” Looking at him, he knew exactly who he was.

“Indeed! Though I fear would have died had you not come,” Howland said the feeling of déjà vu settling in his gut as he had said the same words to the boy's mother twenty-five years ago. He supposed that would make this boy a man, a man the same age as his daughter who he had not seen in almost a decade.

“Traveling alone on the King’s Road is dangerous in the best of circumstances,” the boy said concerned. “In winter you’d have to have a death wish.”

Howland shook his head solemnly, “I do not wish to die, simply that no one else would be put in danger.”

“That’s honorable of you, I suppose,” he nodded, though he said nothing Howland heard Lyanna’s comment from long ago _“honorable but foolish.”_ But the boy just turned away looking down the road he came from, the road from White Harbor. In the distance, there was a small traveling group that was fast approaching. “Where are you headed? Perhaps we can travel together for a while.”

“On my way to Winterfell,” Howland said.

“Great, so are we,” He said going to mount his horse again. “We might have an extra horse, but if not you can ride in the carriage.”

“Jon,” he said causing the boy to stop in his tracks. “Thank you.”

“You know me?”

“My name is Howland Reed, I was a friend of your mother’s and Ned,” He said calmly. “I was there at the Tower of Joy after you were born.”

“You know who my mother is?”

“Of course, she saved my life once. I can tell you all about her, the truth.”

“I’ll find you a horse,” He said his eyes wide with excitement and doubt. “We’ll talk on the way.”

 

SNOW & RIVERS & WATERS

_307AC_

It was Ghost that found them.

Arya had been out in the woods hunting with Nymeria and her pack. A few of the wolves had gone off on their own while Arya shot seven squirrels. She was stringing up her game bag and getting ready to head back to Winterfell when the pure white direwolf emerged from the woods holding one of Nymeria's wolves by the scruff of his neck like a pup. He dropped the wolf at his sisters’ side and jumped on her. Arya had never seen Ghost or Nymeria play before, but it was clear just how happy they both were as they ran off into the woods together.

Arya rolled her eyes; she had ridden on Nymeria's back to get out here, figures she'd have to walk back.

She started on her way when she overheard a party off in the distance. If Ghost was out in the woods, that would mean Jon was, too. It's like Arya is a little girl again, she takes off running not a second thought to her surroundings, not caring about anything now.

When she reached their camp, a man steps forward. "Are you okay, girl?" he said taking a careful step forward. "Do you need any 'elp? We 'ave some food to spare."

Arya must have looked craze running out of the woods alone and out of breath. "I'm fine…" she said, she was use to fighting but she hadn't been thinking about regulating her breathing on the sprint here. "Is… Jon Snow here?"

The man's face fell, "Who's askin'?"

"Arya Stark, his sister," she said.

His eyebrows shot up on his forehead. "Apologies, milady. 'e is 'ere, I can take you to 'im if you like?" he said pointing towards a large tent in the back.

"Please," Arya said stepping forward to follow him.

"I'm Ser Davos, by de way," the man said holding out his hand to shake. She nodded taking his hand which seemed to be missing a few fingers in his glove.

"Shireen told me about you," she told him. "She'll be happy you're back."

He looked touched to hear about Shireen, "Naht as 'appy as you, I'd imagine, 'avin you brother back after nearly a decade!"

That was when Jon stepped out of his tent, "Arya?"

She ran, even with eight years of unknown hardship between them Jon was here favorite brother. Even after traveling with Robb for months and reuniting with Bran back at Winterfell, Jon had always been the one that understood her best.

"I- You were dead," he said barely loud enough for her to here.

"Not quite, but I heard you were," she said blinking heavily to chase tears from her eyes. "I was just gone-- I was in Braavos."

"Arya, no one's heard from you in years."

"I know and I'll tell you everything, all of it," she said barely above a whisper.

Even after hearing he was alive, she never thought she'd see him again. She'd thought it'd be different, that she'd be too broken. But she was still Arya Stark and he would always be her brother.

_***_

"Look, I know that you have your projects-- I really am not one to stop you. But the fucking ice zombies might be," Gendry said. He had been told to stop production of anything that wouldn't kill White Walkers in the forges. He had also been given the authority to run the forges by the Queen. Something told Gendry that the Queen's permission wouldn't help much.

By all technical accounts, Queen Sansa was an exceptional ruler. Certainly, better than the Bolton's and considerate of what had to be done and what they could do without. That didn't change the fact that she was a woman and that some would rather see one of her recently returned brothers wear a crown.

"Oh, you southerner's coming in like we're stupid. We don't even got Dragonglass yet," A man that must have been three times his age with a long beard and a lazy eye. That was also an issue, he was probably the youngest man there.

"But we're getting it. And perhaps I'm mistaken do you have all of this set up for glass? Or steal?" the room was silent, and some of the clanging stopped. Gendry let out a breath thinking he might have gotten through to them. But he hadn't, Robb had just walked in.

Robb had stopped by the forge at the Inn a few times while Gendry was working but he always looked uncomfortable. He would slouch and looked stiff and younger than he was whenever he joined him there. This was not the case at Winterfell. In the weeks they'd been there Gendry hadn't seen much of Robb. Understandably, he kept close to his family finding the Brotherhood an unwanted reminder of what happened to his mother. But since he'd last seen him Robb had gained muscle and fat. He looked good. No matter his past failures and dropped titles, Gendry could see what kind of King he would have been. The men around him must have seen it, too.

"Gendry!" Robb smiled. Gendry wondered for a second if he was having a stroke. "I have a question for you, old friend."

The crowd dispersed upon hearing their lord call him friend, some of them were even preparing the forge for glasswork. Gendry let out a deep sigh, glad for the meeting to be over and wishing he was back at the forge at the Inn and the world wasn't ending. Robb was staring at him, already waiting for an answer. "What?"

"How much do you know about Valyrian steel?" he asked barely taking a pause between words.

Gendry shrugged not surprised at the question, Valyrian steel can kill the wights just as well as dragonglass and was much easier to wield, but knowing Robb would be disappointed with his answer. "More than most but still not much."

"So, you can't make it?" Robb's face didn't betray anything but the excitement in his voice lessened.

He got a rag to wipe the sweat from his face and motioned Robb to follow him out of the forge. It was too loud in there to think let alone talk. "No one can make it anymore, but Mott taught me to reshape it. So, if I had the steal, I could do something with it."

"How much steel does it take to make a great sword?"

Gendry shrugged. "A lot," he said knowing that wasn't the answer Robb was looking for. He didn't really know how to explain forging a sword to someone, he'd never need to talk about it before. "Don't you fight with a long sword? They're a lot heavier. "

"Not if they're Valyrian steel and besides I've been practicing with a great sword," he corrected quickly before pulling something off his belt. "I was wondering, if I could get you the steel could you make a great sword on this hilt?" The hilt was simple, beautiful and familiar. Gendry had once seen Ned Stark wear it on his belt.

"Yeah, probably," Gendry said equal parts excited and terrified at the prospect of reforging the legendary ancestral sword. Robb looked noticeably relieved, but Gendry had to add. "I never saw the actual blade so it wouldn't be a perfect recreation of your father's sword."

"I know," Robb said nodding and completely blocking out any bad news.

"We'll have the steel soon," a voice said from behind them inside the forge, Lord Bran Stark sat on his wheeled chair with a strangely tranquil look on his face. Jojen Reed and he had been appearing all over the castle trying to scare people and Gendry had gotten rather used to it. But somehow, he could tell this was different, this wasn't the Three-Eyed Raven _act_ he sometimes gave.

Robb obviously noticed, too. He seemed a bit uncomfortable with him in a way Gendry hadn't noticed before. "Okay."

“Jon’s returned from Dragonstone. He’s brought Dragonglass with him if you would like to take a look at it and see what you can do with it, Ser Gendry.”

“Of course, milord,” Gendry nodded.

Lord Bran then smirked the tension of fate and destiny seemed to fall off his shoulders and let him be a child again.  "I'll be here when you get back. I'm waiting for someone to return and the forge is the best place for that."

_***_

“Seems Black wasn’t your color after all, Snow,” Robb shouted as he approached the party returning from Dragonstone.

"Robb?" the look of utter confusion and disbelief on Jon's face was truly hysterical. He jumped off his horse, not bothering with the reigns, and embraced his brother. "Everyone thought you were dead."

"Well," Robb shrugged trying not to laugh, it would be undignified to laugh at his brothers’ expense. "I won't lie, there were some close calls but I'm alive."

"Yeah, close calls," Jon said still half in shock. He could see the tears in his eyes. "I remembered thinking you should have been harder to kill…"

 

WATERS

_307AC_

Jamie Lannister wasn’t as surprised when Varys told him about Durran as he should have been. It’s not that he excepted that his nephew was alive. But his body was never shown. At the time, he had assumed that was partially Cersei’s anger at him for dying without her. But thinking about it now, Durran was a prince, he’d have been laid to rest before the gods no matter Cersei’s wishes. He hadn’t needed much convincing to check his grave, and he hadn’t needed much convincing from Varys to leave Cersei’s side.

He had lost everything he had ever loved and even those he hadn’t he had mourned. He mourned Joffrey, who, despite how terrible he was, was still his son. He had played a part in his own father’s death and had buried his old relationship with his brother, by telling Tyrion the truth about Tysha. Myrcella, who had died in his arms, she was the hardest to lose. Not only because she knew he was her true father but because with her death he saw Cersei’s eyes turn cold with no anger or passion behind them. He mourned them both for a time.

If Jamie was truthful, he had been looking for a reason to leave King’s Landing ever since Tommen’s death. If he was truthful, he blamed Cersei for giving up on their son. It was not the first time she had given up on her children, she had wanted the twins dead, but for so long Jamie had seen her unconditional love for _their_ children as her last connection to humanity. Looking at her now with a crown on her head and all sense of humanity gone, he wanted to leave.

So, while Varys calling him down to the tunnels had been strange, Jamie had met with him. And while his assurances that Durran Baratheon was alive and on his way to Winterfell had been flimsy with the vague reasoning of “lost little birds telling him” Jamie had left.

He gathered all the Lannister troops that would follow him and made his way to Winterfell to support his nephew’s claim to the throne.

He hadn’t expected a warm welcome upon his arrival, but he had excepted them all to recognize the name Durran Baratheon. They hadn’t, of course, leaving him locked in a room for a day and a half while the army he brought sat around doing gods know what.

Lady Brienne, who had apparently succeeded in her mission of finding the Stark girls, was the first person to open the door. “You’ve been asked to join Queen Sansa and her court for dinner and to explain why you’ve come with an army.”

“I’ve already told them,” He said standing and following her out of the room regardless of this. “I’m here to support my nephew.”

“A nephew that is not here and has never been heard of,” She said looking exasperated as they were joined by two guards flanking them on their path to the Dining Hall. Jamie couldn’t help but roll his eyes, they had taken his sword and even then, he was one-handed, did they truly think Lady Brienne couldn’t handle him on her own?

“Before Joffrey, my sister had twins, Steffon and Durran. We’d thought they’d both died of fever early on but… new information has come to light. He’d be twenty and four now.”

“And he’s your _nephew_?” She asked.

He knew what her true question was though, “He was fathered by King Robert. He is my nephew and the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

“There have been quite ‘rightful heirs’ these past seven years,” she said. “I don’t think ‘rightful’ matters much anymore.”

“And yet it does,” Jamie said before looking down where she had a sword sheathed on her hip. “You don’t carry Oathkeeper?”

“No,” she said simply before coming to a large set of double doors with black iron wolves embedded into the heavy wood. "It was Ice once. It belongs to the Starks."

The doors open revealing the eyes of nearly everyone in Winterfell, all there to watch him. This was a trial for everything he’d done against the Starks in the past few wars, he’d thought it might be. But the eyes of the crippled boy at the high table chill him more than the room as a whole. He had half-forgotten about the boy he’d pushed out a window here all those years ago, but he could have sworn the boy had been killed when the Starks had lost Winterfell. There was a knowing look in the boy’s eyes that scared Jamie to know end. “Lord Lannister,” Sansa, _Queen_ Sansa, interrupted his thoughts. “Do you have an excuse for marching an army onto our lands?”

“None that I haven’t already given, Your Grace,” he said. She shifted in her chair as if surprised he’d address her as a Queen and not belittled her position. That would be rather foolish of him. Though perhaps they all expected him to be the foolish Lannister. Silence hangs in the hall at his statement as if no one knows how to continue forward if he doesn’t reveal an ulterior motive for his arrival.

Then the boy, Bran Stark, breaks the silence. His voice was soft but it carried throughout the room. “You wish to make Gendry a King,” he said causing a number of heads to turn to a man leaning against the wall. Jamie knew this Gendry must be Durran the second he saw him. Cersei had been right all those years ago, the twins would have looked nothing like her. No one would mistake him for a Lannister, everything about him had come from his father, from his large, strong build to the bright blue of his eyes.

"Yes, I am here to support my nephews claim for the throne."

The man at Queen Sansa’s left, who Jamie would have thought was Robb Stark if he didn’t know better, started laughing before the girl next to him, who might have been Arya Stark, hit his arm. Durran stopped leaning against the wall and instead took a step forward. "That-- I am not your nephew," He said, a look of pure rage on his face.

"I understand that you might not have known but Cersei is your --"

He took another step forward and Jamie truly believed he was ready to kill him where he stood. "Gendry Waters was born Durran Baratheon, it is true," Bran Stark said. The man looked back at the high table surprise and something akin to true fear clear on his face, before brushing past him and out of the hall.

"It's nice to see you again, Lord Lannister, I hope this visit doesn't end like the last one did," Something in the boy’s eyes told him that this would be his last time arriving at Winterfell. He waved him off now, "You should follow him now."

No one went to stop him as he left.

 

_***_

Gendry was fuming. Years ago, the brotherhood had joked that he'd inherited the Baratheon fury, but he had never seen red like this. He had always been an angry child, but he had never wanted anything more than he wanted to hit Jamie Lannister in that moment.

"Durran!"

He turned on his heal. “Stop calling me that!" Gendry yelled. He needed to hit something and if Lannister didn't let him get to the forge his face who do just fine. "I don’t give a shit what anyone says, least of all you! I knew my mother and Cersei Lannister is the scum of the earth next to her.”

“I understand that,” he nodded still walking towards him.

Gendry took a step back. “I doubt it. I watched my mother die. You don’t get to erase her because you’re just now realizing your sister is mad!" He wished he had his hammer with him. " And my name is Gendry— if you call me Durran again I’ll cave in your chest.” He goes to leave, knowing exactly how this would end if he stayed, Gendry never liked killing and Lannister was unarmed.

“I have Widow’s Wail, Gendry,” the man said calmly from behind him. Gendry rolled his eyes and looked back, Lannister had made no move to follow him.

“What the fuck is-"

“The second half of Ice, it was the Starks ancestral blade," he said.

Gendry felt his heart sink a bit and wondered how this man who had barely met him could already tell the Starks were important to him. “I know what Ice was! Are you offering it up or trying to negotiate?”

Lannister let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, “Negotiate.”

“Then what do you want?” Gendry asked taking a deep breath in threw his nose.

“You need to take the throne,” he said taking a step forward.

Gendry laughed. He hated this, all of it, but he'd have to be dead to find no humor in it. “Wow like it's that easy? Just go over to King's Landing and sit on that ugly chair, right?" he asked. "There’s already a war going on and I’m not about to take my band of 30 men to fight they’re armies and dragons. I’m a fucking blacksmith, not a king, not a general.”

Lannister looked surprised as if he assumed that being king was what anyone would want. But he recovered quickly enough, “Cersei is mad, and the Dragon Queen is a conqueror. You’re a blacksmith, sure that's not ideal but why is that disqualifying?" He paused for a second before adding. "You grew up with the smallfolk, you know their issues.”

“The smallfolk aren't what I’m worried about,” he said, wondering if Lannister noticed he completely ignored the fact that there were fucking dragons on the other side.

“If it’s armies you’re worried about I can find you armies— the Stormlands’ for one.”

“I don’t know how to lead!” The words tasted like dirt in his mouth, Arya had told him the next time he said something self-deprecating she'd feed him to Nymeria.

“Then find someone who can," Lannister said smirking, the look on Gendry's face must have made his plans clear. He was going to do this, even if he didn't want to. "You have the claim. If you use it: Widow’s Wail belongs to the Starks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been forever. College is kicking my ass. There's a break coming up and I'll have more time to write hopefully.  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
> Wish me luck with my finals this week!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed!


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